Unforeseen
by unknown ghost author
Summary: The sequel to Unexpected! New mechs and new challenges, with the past and the future racing together. The Autobots have settled into their alliance with humans and are moving ahead with their plans for independence. But what will that future look like? And where are the Cons? Old secrets are revealed, new paths are forged, and the pattern guiding each mechs' life is more revealed.
1. Chapter 1

**Unforeseen One**

The sequel to Unexpected! (Read order: Unintended, Unexpected, Unforeseen, ?) New mechs and new challenges, with the past and the future racing together. The Autobots have settled into their new alliance with humans and are moving forward with their plans for independence and a rebuilt future. But what will that future look like? And where are the Decepticons?

* * *

><p><strong>Sixteen Years after the End of Unexpected<strong>

**Prowler – 17 Earth Years Old**

**Hope – 16 Earth Years Old**

* * *

><p>Hope leaned back in his desk chair, precariously balanced on the back two legs, balance more a prayer than an actual fact, and rolled his optics. The last hour of the school day was always the absolute worst. Study Hall, and a chance to get a head start on the homework. What if someone didn't have any intention of doing the homework anyway? It was a waste of an hour, and Hope hated it.<p>

Next to Hope, Prowler bent over his data pads, studiously plowing through calculations and figures. He crunched numbers with the best of them, even debating Wheeljack on the finer points of orbital mechanics. He was a consummate teacher's pet, turning in his homework every day – perfect, of course – and never, ever complaining about the assignments.

Hope grinned and wadded up a spare tear of aluminum. Extra sheets were floating around after the Nursery's science hour earlier. He squinted his optics, then flicked the wadded bit of metal straight at Prowler's temple.

Prowler jumped as the aluminum slammed into his helm. He shot a nasty glare Hope's way. Hope grinned, winking. Prowler, never one to be caught doing anything untoward, checked the front of the room. Wheeljack and Perceptor were both helping one-on-one with the Nursery mechlets. Wheeljack still had his newest sparkling in his arms. No one was headed for the back of the room – and the upperclassmechs – anytime soon.

Reaching across the aisle, Prowler hooked Hope around the neck and pulled, nearly pulling him from his seat. He noogied Hope savagely as Hope pushed and punched Prowler in return, trying to break free. The fight was vicious and silent, and blessedly short. By the time Perceptor looked up, checking on a rustle in the back, Hope and Prowler were back to their seats and back to normal.

Prowler shot a grin across the aisle, catching Hope's gaze. Hope's optics were blazing bright, full of more than just the excitement from their roughhousing. He mimed driving a steering wheel, then pointed to Prowler, then mimed slitting his throat. "You're going down!" Hope hissed.

Smirking, Prowler shook his helm.

"You'll see," Hope whispered. "I got the mods all worked out."

"Hope? Prowler?" Wheeljack, from up front. Wheeljack bounced his sparkling in his arms, rubbing his newest on his back. "How is your homework coming?"

Prowler and Hope turned as one back to their data pads. "Fine," they called in unison.

4pm, Earth United States Pacific Time, and classes were finally out of session. The Nursery levels were released first, escorted out to their waiting parents. Elementary levels walked to their quarters in a long line of drop-offs with Wheeljack. Wheeljack and Ratchet's kids currently outnumbered the line of Elementary levels, though. Out of the eight mechlets Ratchet and Wheeljack had had so far, Roader and Piston were in Hope and Prowler's upperclass. Tract, Level, and Didget were in the Elementary levels, and Gidget and Widget were both in Nursery. Bam-Bam was still being rocked in Wheeljack's arms, still fresh and new and soft.

Fawn and his brother Spectrum, hung around the back of the classroom with Hope, Prowler, Piston and Roader. Spectrum was a little young to be hanging out with them, but he idolized his older brother Fawn, so they let him stick around. He also kept his vocalizer offline. The rest of the class had nicknamed the two the "mudballs", since Hound and Mirage's mechlets always seemed to be dirty in some form or fashion.

Conch, Beachcomber and Seaspray's mechlet, only hung out sometimes, but today was a day he wouldn't dare miss. He hung around the back of the room, silent like the rest of the soon-to-be-guilty mechlets, and waited. Blueprint, Hoist and Skids' older mechlet, stayed behind as well. Beats, Blaster and Perceptor's eldest, tapped his fingers against the desk while flicking his data stylus, over and over and over again.

Dragon, the far-too-observant – and mouthy – mechlet of Skyfire and Sky Lynx trailed after the Elementary dismissal. His optics were fixed to the upperclassmech racket in the back of the classroom. He glared, his permanent scowl darkening to pitched jealousy. Skyfire and Sky Lynx were a combustible mixture to begin with. Their sparkling had taken on the most audacious of both of their traits, and he was a prying, boastful, and jealous mechlet who hated to be left out of anything at all.

Hope stuck his tongue out at Dragon and waved cheekily. Dragon wouldn't ever be joining their little gaggle, not if he had his way.

Clearsweep, Trailbreaker and Rung's mechlet, and the youngest and newest member of their budding criminal enterprise, poked his helm in from the corridor. "Wheeljack and the younglings have left. The coast is clear!"

Hope grinned wide. "Let's get going then!"

* * *

><p>"Hold still!" Hope lay flat on his back, doorwings spread wide in the red desert sand, and worked on the sticking gears deep within Prowler's chassis. "This alt mode they gave us isn't easy to mod."<p>

Prowler grunted. "I thought you said you had these mods down. Do you even know what you're doing in there?

"How many times do I have to tell you, I can hack the medbay mainframe anytime I want. I got the schematics for these alt modes, and it's just a matter of plugging in mods to boost the power." He torqued hard against a lugnut. Prowler grunted again.

"How did you manage to sneak into the medbay, again?" Prowler grunted again as Hope overtightened his mods.

Hope grinned into Prowler's chassis. "C'mon, you can't stop The Hope! Jazz is my parent."

"Yeah, and Prowl is your other parent," Roader groused.

"Don't remind me," Hope snapped back as he swung himself out from beneath Prowler's frame. He ignored the rest of the mechs' looks, both curious and glaring. "Alright, I made the mods to myself last night-"

"That why you recharged in Social Studies?"

"-so now it's time to test 'em out." Hope ignored Fawn entirely. He grinned. "Let's go!"

Suddenly excited, the group shouted, jumping and running to the start of their recovered racetrack. A long stretch of isolated road, far on the edge of the Autobot's perimeter, had become the mechlet's secret racetrack for their completely-off-limits, going-to-be-so-in-trouble, drag racing.

Prowl, in his official capacity as Executive Officer of the Autobots, and in his unofficial capacity as a parent, had enacted a regulation for mechlet transformations. As the mechlet t-cogs came online – first for Prowler, and then – way too soon after – for Hope – Prowl had scoured the planet for the absolute slowest and most underpowered vehicle for the mechlets to scan. The Peel P50 fit the bill, clocking in at an incredible 35 miles per hour top speed. With a 49cc engine and a mighty 4.2 horsepower, Prowl – and the other parents – had been delighted. Hope had been devastated.

Prowler didn't put much of a fuss. He accepted it, as he accepted nearly all other things, with his silence and his simple nods. Hope fought with enough ferocity for three mechlets, though. Hope lost, of course, and at each mechlet's tenth sparking day, the old Peel 500 would be rolled out for them to scan, and the first transformation to the World's Slowest Vehicle would begin.

Hope decided, on day ten years and one day, that he would hack the transformation and speed up their alt modes. For all of the mechlets. For freedom.

Six years and twelve hacks of the medbay, four experimental tries on his own frame, and two partial upgrades, Hope had declared, today, that he had created the working modifications for an upgrade.

Naturally Hope and Prowler were the first mechlets to get the upgrades. Age had its privileges, as Hope was constantly reminding the other mechlets. Prowler went along with it.

Finally, they were all gathered at the start. Clearsweep dragged a line in the dust, gouging into the dirt with his heel as Prowler and Hope dropped into their identical Peel P50 forms. Prowler had chosen a white paintjob with dual red and yellow racing strips down his center. Hope was fire engine red, flashy and vibrant.

Hope revved his tiny engine, rustling the dust on the converted race track. Prowler responded, dropping into second gear for the start. Nearby, Fawn counted down, calling out the time to start.

At "zero!", the mechlets took off, skidding on their tiny wheels and tearing off down the dirt track. Hope pushed with all of his might, throwing his entire engine into the race. Prowler, larger and heftier, fought equally as hard, racing after Hope's nimble frame. Behind them both, the mechlets cheered, chasing after the two oldest mechlets as they clocked the fastest times a mechlet ever had whilst speeding down the track.

* * *

><p>"Hot Spot to Prowl." Far above the dirt track, watching optics tracked the mechlets' every move.<p>

"Prowl here. Are they racing again?"

Hot Spot chuckled. "Yes, sir. Tearing it up on the back stretch." Hot Spot smiled as he watched the mechlets jump and shout as Hope and Prowler raced around the dirt track a second time, neck and neck. "They look a little faster today."

"Maybe they're going through another growth spurt. Hope's been looking taller." Prowl paused. "Who's winning?"

The race was coming to a close and Hot Spot zoomed in with his optics for the final stretch. Hope was nudging just past Prowler, pushing and straining and desperate to win. He held his breath, waiting for the final.

Cheers erupted as Hope crossed the finish line just a shade before Prowler. He skidded to a stop, flailing as he transformed before he was ready, and pumped his hands into the air. Prowler rose a moment later, taking the time to get himself back under control, and grinned at Hope. They high-fived before Hope whooped with glee and jumped into the air again, beaming.

"Hope won, sir." Hot Spot waited, biting his lip.

Prowl's satisfied purr echoed over the comm channel. Hot Spot didn't comment. "Doesn't it seem like just last year we were monitoring Sideswipe and Sunstreaker racing out here?"

"And then Slingshot, Air Raid, and Fireflight?" Prowl deadpanned. "If I remember correctly… Blades was in on that air race, too."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sir." Hot Spot zoomed out as Hope settled down with his tools beneath Fawn's chassis, out of sight. "Looks like they might be tweaking some systems, sir."

"Well, they can't have figured out how to break through the power barrier or override the energon choke throttle. Let them tinker." Despite his reputation amongst the mechlets, Prowl had been surprisingly lenient in allowing them their playtime on the drag strip. None of the mechlets knew they were being watched, of course.

"Keep a watch on them until they head inside?" Hot Spot repeated his orders, standing orders Prowl had given him when the mechlets first had started to wander in the outside world, playing in the safety of their perimeter. Observe from a distance, render aid if necessary, and watch for safety. But let them have their fun.

"Thank you Hot Spot. Keep an optic on the weather front moving in from the north. Temperature's dropping."

"Will do." Hot Spot settled down for another few hours, resting against the rocky outspurt he'd found that offered the best view of the mechlets on the drag strip. "Should I let you know the race champion, sir?" Hot Spot grinned again, looking down.

"You know all of my credits are on Hope."

* * *

><p>They were late getting back to the <em>Ark<em>, but who could blame them? Hope was riding on a racing high, giddy with excitement as he led the mechlets on a mini-race back to the _Ark_ entrance. Prowler took up the rear, keeping a watch on the stragglers and making sure everyone was on board. A trail of filthy mechlets tracked red dust all through the corridors as they split and ran for their quarters, shouting and chasing each other through the halls.

Hope waited for Prowler at the blast doors, casually leaning against the bulkheads and bouncing his helm to a blaring beat pushing from his radio. His feet jiggled, bouncing with primed energy left from their race. Even his doorwings were bouncing to the beat and shuddering with energy.

"That was awesome, huh?" Hope's optics glittered as he fell in line with Prowler.

"Very impressive," Prowler said. He couldn't keep the smile from his face. "You're good with mechanics."

Hope beamed.

"Which is good, because you're pretty much flunking everything else." Prowler cast a knowing, sidelong glance to Hope.

Hope's good mood couldn't be swayed. He waved Prowler off. "Whatever," he dismissed. "Like I care about the orbital velocities of the galactic center, or the time-space properties to keep in mind during interstellar transit. That's all you, geek." Hope sneered at Prowler. "You're the brainiac of us all. Everyone says so. How come you couldn't figure out the mods, huh?"

Prowler frowned. "I'm not good with our internal systems." He sounded disappointed in himself, admitting a failing of his academics and personal knowledgebase.

"Well then, I finally have something that I can do that you can't." Hope socked Prowler in the shoulder and smirked. Red dust fell from their coated frames. "Look, we gotta get this slag off before we get back. You guys are coming over tonight for dinner. I can't go home looking like this. Let's sneak into your quarters and rinse off there. We can say we were doing homework."

Prowler sighed. "Or you could actually do your homework."

"What for?"

Shaking his helm, Prowler turned down the corridor that led to the family wing. Hope chased after Prowler, grinning. "You can't deny it was amazing."

A slow smile peeked over Prowler's face. "No, I can't."

The two mechs made it to the twins' and Prowler's expanded quarters without running into anyone. Most of the other mechlets had already made it home, and the shift change hadn't happened just yet. The family wing was, for the moment, blessedly quiet and empty.

The _Ark_ had changed in 16 years. Tracks and Red Alert had instigated the biggest change, albeit unwittingly. Both mechs were near fritzing from being woken up in the middle of their recharge due to sparkling cries, mechlet tantrums, wild games of tag, and the ever-present mechlet artwork – "graffiti", Red Alert said – gracing the _Ark_ corridors up to waist-high. A massive shift began, transitioning the single mechs and couples without mechlets to one side of the _Ark_ – where they could party, listen to loud music, and drink high grade whilst gambling to their spark's content – and the family wing was created out of the vacated quarters. Two quarters were combined for each family unit, with a further two subdivisions inside each – one main room, one recharge room for the parents, and one recharge room for the mechlets. For families with more than one sparkling, mechlets learned to share space.

For Ratchet and Wheeljack, everyone learned to share space. It wasn't uncommon to find a mechlet or two recharging on the couch, or on the ground where they had fallen offline mid-play. They all eventually made it to the large shared mechlet berth, all tucked in in a row. Morning found the mechlets splattered all over the berth, some turned right around, others recharging at the foot, or one smothering another. Still, it worked.

Prowler and Hope slipped into Prowler's family quarters before Sideswipe or Sunstreaker made it back from their shifts. They ducked into the washrack tucked into Prowler's room, sharing the small rackspace and washing each other down as quick as they could. Hope flopped onto Prowler's berth as Prowler mopped up the red dust tracks peppered through the main quarters.

"I wish I never had to go to classes again," Hope groaned, spying the stack of data pads on Prowler's desk. "Primus, you do so much homework."

"Actually, I don't do much homework," Prowler corrected, wiping his hands. He leaned against his desk, peering down at Hope. "I do it all at school. This is research."

"Whatever," Hope dismissed. He was silent for a long moment. "I mean, why? What's so cool about doing all that?"

Prowler shrugged and looked away. "I just want to know it."

Stretching as far as he could without getting up, and wiggling on his back to make the final few feet, Hope snagged the top data pad. He onlined the screen and read the contents. "These are historical reports from over twenty years ago!" Hope threw his helm back, sighing loudly. "What does this even matter?"

Prowler still wouldn't look at Hope. "I just like it. I like what Sideswipe and Sunstreaker do. I'm interested in Operations, and –"

Hope cut Prowler off, jabbing a finger toward him. "You're just interested in being like Prowl. You want to be just like him."

Silence. Hope snorted. "I knew it." he shook his helm. "You know, you should have been Prowl's mechlet. Would have saved everyone a whole bunch of trouble."

Frowning deeply, Prowler opened his mouth, ready to fight back. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut as the doors to his room slid open. Sideswipe peeked inside.

"Hey guys!" Sideswipe said brightly, smiling. "How was your day?"

"Fine," both Hope and Prowler grumbled. They didn't look up.

* * *

><p>Dinner at Prowl and Jazz's was a tense affair.<p>

Dinner itself was still, after 14 years, a novelty for the older mechs. Rations and liquid energon had been the way to refuel for time immemorial, since the early days of the energon crises and all through the war. Barely a mech could remember having energon meals – raw-form energon from the wild, or heat processed, flash-electrified, smoked, charred, or chilled. Spices, injections of ores and dustings and rubs of elements. Each combination rediscovered was a culinary treasure, and the mechs had taken to experimentation with all the enthusiasm they had brought to the war. Ultimately, Beachcomber and Seaspray had petitioned to build a galley out of an old weapons locker off the Rec room. The two minibots took to crafting energon intake like they were crafted for it. In less than six months, the _Ark_ had a functioning galley, serving regular culinary adventures to the mechs. By the next year, a delivery service was created, delivering a choice of meals to the mechs' quarters for dinner each day. It was a blessed treat for the growing families, and a beacon of stability in the post-war jumble.

For the mechlets who hadn't known a world other than energon dinners and exquisitely refined taste, the experience was as normal as ever. For the mechs who had survived, the chance to relax, to enjoy a slow meal, and to feel the pleasant buzz of strong ore and electrified high-grade was a delicious luxury.

Prowl and Jazz had settled into a routine of dining with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker over the years. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had been two of Jazz's only close friends for years, as Jazz worked through his personal rebuild. The four had grown close, closer still as Hope and Prowler grew and played and eventually began their schooling together. The families were united together tightly, almost as if they were one.

There were days, Hope thought darkly, that he suspected Prowl wished that they were one family. Or that Prowler had been Prowl's mechlet instead of Hope.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker carted Prowler and Hope, dragging their feet behind the twins, over to Jazz and Prowl's shortly after the shift change. Even from the hall, raised voices bounced off the corridors, Prowl and Jazz's muffled shouts bleeding from their quarters' doorframe. They weren't cries of passion, either. Something was definitely wrong. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a worried frown as they rang for entry, trying to cover their concern by distracting Prowler and Hope. "What happened in classes today?"

Both mechlets looked away. "Nothing," they sullenly responded in unison.

Sideswipe sighed heavily as Sunstreaker rolled his optics. Prowler had grown less chatty with every year that passed, but he'd practically become non-communicative with his parents over the past year. Hope was only marginally better – when he did actually speak, it was mostly with something smart, something that Sunstreaker would have smacked him upside the helm for, had he been his mechlet.

The doors slid open then, and Jazz stood in the doorway. A wide, obviously fake smile stretched over his face. "Hi!" he called, waving them inside. "C'mon in!"

As Hope trudged in after the others, Jazz snaked an arm through Hope's and tugged on his elbow. Hope stumbled, falling into Jazz's side as Jazz wrapped an arm tight around his shoulders. Hope was smaller than Jazz, light and slender and thinner in every way than most all other mechs. He was a head shorter than Jazz, still at sixteen, and Ratchet wasn't sure how much more he had to grow.

"Hope," Jazz growled, his voice low. "You're dead. And you're grounded. Until you're dead."

Indignant, Hope pushed away. "What'd I do?" he cried. Across the room, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker busily pretended not to listen, instead setting themselves down at Jazz and Prowl's table. Prowler sullenly sat next to Sunstreaker, ramrod straight and silent. Prowl passed down four dishes of energon – raw, sliced, electrified energon, charred ringlets, smoked cubelets, and fluffy, ground energon shavings.

Jazz's optics blazed behind his visor and he fixed Hope with their heated glare. "Ratchet comm'd Prowl."

Sideswipe glanced at Prowl, noticing the high-strung doorwings and taught lines of Prowl's face. Prowl still hadn't spoken.

Hope snorted and guffawed and moaned all together in an indignant sort of wail. Jazz left him, striding to the table to join Prowl. Prowl glanced at Jazz quickly, and the two squeezed hands beneath the table out of sight. Finally, Hope trudged over to join them, dropping into the only empty seat, next to Prowl.

Prowl didn't look at Hope.

"So," Sideswipe said, trying for perky. He picked up his column of high-grade and swirled. "How are things?"

Silence. Resounding silence. Only the scraping of flatware against dishes, the tap-tap-tap of Prowler's feet against the chair leg, and Hope's hissing vents.

Sighing, Sideswipe gulped his high-grade. Prowl steepled his fingers before his lips, his optics narrowing. Jazz sighed, tossing his fork onto the plate. Sunstreaker, silent, stared at Prowler.

"Why don't you tell us all about your race?" Prowl finally said, frigid and dark. His optics shot sideways, fixing Hope. "I hear you were 'faster'."

Crossing his arms, Hope scowled and glared at his empty plate.

"What's going on?" Sunstreaker asked, glaring at Prowler. "Are you guys racing again?"

"They often do," Jazz said. "Out on that back stretch."

Prowler gulped, his optics widening as he felt Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's stares burning into his plating.

"Oh, but there was something different about today's race, wasn't there?" Prowl asked again, still staring at Hope. His doorwings were vibrating, trembling with unshed anger.

Hope refused to budge, wouldn't look, wouldn't speak.

"Prowler," Sunstreaker began. "You know the rules. It's not like you to break them."

Hope snorted.

Prowler winced, staring down, refusing to look at his parents. The tapping of his foot increased, almost manic against the chair leg. "Yeah, we were racing-" Prowler finally choked out.

"Traitor!" Hope shouted. Angry optics flashed, burning toward Prowler. "You said you'd never tell!"

"Oh, we already know everything, my little mechlet," Jazz purred. "We already know."

Hope's jaw fell open briefly before he could regain his enraged composure. His optics briefly flashed to Prowl, who was still boring his burning gaze into Hope, before Hope glared back at Prowler.

"You know that's not allowed. And it's dangerous," Sideswipe said, disappointment in his voice. "There are reasons for these rules."

"Oh, but that's not all that happened," Jazz said slowly. "Oh, no no no." He shook his helm. "Hope, would you like to confess?" A beat, and more devastating silence. "Or should we just tell you now that not only have you gone and broken our rules, but you've violated the law as well?"

Hope's angry countenance started to waver as fear crept into the edges of his optics. Still, he clung to his indignation. "So?" he challenged. "It's a crime to keep us in these ridiculous alt modes!"

"I'm confused," Sideswipe said. "This isn't' just about racing?"

"Hope broke into Ratchet's private files and stole the modified diagrams to the Peel P50," Prowl said bluntly. "He specifically stole the files that detailed the modifiers to the power throttle and the power controls."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's optic ridges shot sky high, and both parents' helms shot straight to Prowler. Prowler shrank in on himself, his foot tap-tap-tapping away.

"And I figured it out!" Hope cried. "I figured out how to reconfigure our modes!" He sneered, spreading his hands wide. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

"You're practically a criminal!" Jazz snapped. "Ratchet was ready to report you to Prime! Do you have any idea the amount of confidential, personal information that is in Ratchet's files? There are serious consequences to breaching privacy like that!"

"I never even looked-"

"That's not the point!" Prowl roared. "You're undisciplined, you're failing your classes, you slack off with all of your responsibilities, and now you're breaking and entering into another mech's private database!" Prowl heaved, barely controlling his temper as his doorwings shuddered. "What is **wrong **with you?"

Screwing up his face at the onslaught, Hope's spark sputtered with indignant, hurt wrath. "I'm not **Prowler**!" he shrieked, pointing at his friend at the other end of the table. "That's what's wrong with me! You'd rather have Prowler for a mechlet and I **know** it!"

Silence, again. Prowl froze, staring at Hope. Jazz's mouth dropped open. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were frozen, shocked to stillness. Even Prowler had gone still, slumped in his chair and wanting to disappear.

Heaving a giant vent, Hope bellowed back at Prowl, on a roll now. "And he wants to be **just** like you, and isn't that so special? He reads all your old reports and wants to go into Operations, just like his little hero! And you are always telling him how proud you are, and how great he did on his Orbital Mechanics exam, and how proud you are of his research. Why don't you just adopt him, then, huh? You don't care about **me**, or about what I've done! Don't care at all what I'm interested in! It's always 'Prowler's great at this', and 'Prowler's aced another test'! Well, frag you! And frag **you**!" Hope directed his last 'frag you' to Prowler himself. Swallowing, Prowler looked down.

Only the sound of Prowl's ticking engine and his heavy, measured vents filled the room.

"We're going to go," Sideswipe said quietly, pushing himself away from the table and his untouched dinner. Sunstreaker stood in tandem, motioning for Prowler to precede them both. Prowler heaved himself to his feet, not making optic contact with any mech. certainly not with Hope.

Prowl and Jazz didn't even acknowledge Sideswipe and Sunstreaker as the family scooted to the exit and slipped out. Their optics were fixed on Hope, watching him breathe hard, venting long, ragged inhales and exhales as he clung to his rage. Defiant optics stared back at them both, through Hope fixed most of his wrath onto Prowl.

Finally, Prowl spoke through clenched gears. "This isn't about Prowler-"

"Well, why not? Everything else is!" Hope interrupted.

"Hope!" Jazz snapped. "You have been impossible lately!"

"Because I'm not like dutiful little Prowler?" Hope sneered back.

"You have always struggled to attend to your studies, but lately, you've been flagrantly ignoring them," Prowl growled. "You're insensitive, arrogant, and your attitude is atrocious."

"Maybe I'm tired of being treated like slag from you two!"

"We do not treat you like slag!" Jazz looked like he'd been slapped. "You're our mechlet!"

"You **do** treat me like slag!" Hope screamed. "You don't care at all about me! You're always finding out some reason for me to be in trouble-"

"That's because you're always getting into trouble," Prowl interrupted.

"Frag you!" Hope shrieked. He pushed back from the table, jumping to his feet. His doorwings were duplicates of Prowl's, arching high and shuddering. "I wish you weren't my parents! I hate you both!" He whirled on Prowl. "And I especially hate **you**!"

And with that, Hope tore off, racing into his bedroom. The quiet hiss of the doors closing wasn't the same as a slammed door, but the effect was just as deafening.

Prowl dropped his helm into his hands, cradling his face as he trembled. Jazz reached for him, stroking his back as he thunked his forehelm onto the table. Neither spoke for a long time as they listened to the sounds of Hope's sobs coming from his room.

* * *

><p>Classes started the next day without Hope.<p>

Instead, Hope stayed in recharge until almost midmorning, charging back up after the gargantuan flood of energy release he'd gone through the day before. Prowl waited for Hope to rise in the main room, sitting at the empty table and staring into the middle distance.

Hope tentatively stepped out of his room, glancing around. He couldn't believe that he'd been left alone, ignored all morning, and had skipped the start of classes. It was just another thing for Prowl to be pissed off at him about, he thought darkly.

He froze as he saw Prowl, sitting alone at the table, staring at him.

"Good morning," Prowl called out softly.

Hope didn't move.

"Please come here," Prowl beckoned.

Sullen, Hope crossed their quarters to the table's edge. He wouldn't look at Prowl, wouldn't meet his gaze, but he fidgeted under his parent's piercing optics.

"I took the day off," Prowl finally said. "And I intend to spend it with you."

"I need to go to class," Hope grumbled. "I'm already late."

Prowl shook his helm. "No classes today. We need some time together."

Frowning, Hope glared at Prowl. "Don't I get a say in that?"

Prowl swallowed, but held Hope's angry optics. "You think that I don't like you, don't love you with all of my spark. You think that I want a different mechlet, someone other than you. How can I convince you that that is the furthest thing from the truth, the furthest thing from reality, if you won't spend any time with me?"

Now the fidgeting really began, and Hope's doorwings flapped up and down. "You never want to be with me."

"It's been **hard** to be with you recently," Prowl gently corrected. "You've been angry and distant. I didn't know why."

Hope glared at Prowl. "It's really hard to hear you say how proud you are of Prowler all the fragging time," he growled.

"Language, please," Prowl whispered. "I know you're mad. But please."

Hope looked away.

Sighing, Prowl crossed his arms and leaned into the tabletop, resting his weight on his elbows. It was a tired pose from a tired parent. "I am proud of you, Hope."

"Never said it before," Hope grumbled. "You're always just angry at me."

"What you did to Ratchet's files was **wrong**," Prowl emphasized. "And you are lucky to not be facing criminal charges… However, the hack you performed to access the files is impressive."

Hope shrugged. "I worked really hard on that."

"And, figuring out how to modifying the controls we placed on your guys' alt mode was very skilled." Prowl sighed. "I scanned your mods last night." He ignored Hope's indignant glare. "You were very safe and careful in your modifications. It almost looks like a medic performed them."

Finally, Hope brightened, albeit marginally. He swallowed before speaking. "I've been planning to do that since you gave me that alt mode. Just had to keep experimenting."

Prowl's jaw dropped. "Six years? You've been working on that for six years."

Hope nodded. "That's how I got interested in medicine."

Frowning, Prowl asked, "You're interested in medicine?"

Hope sighed, long and loud. "See? This is what I mean. You don't know anything about me." He pulled out a chair and flopped into it, slouching as he absently drew shapes in the tabletop surface with his fingers.

"To be fair, you've never said that you were interested in medicine."

"Why do you think Ratchet kept chasing me out of the medbay last year?"

Prowl smiled sadly. "I thought it was because you were cutting classes."

"Well, I was, but I was going somewhere where I learned more. Watching Ratchet and First Aid taught me more than anything I learned in science class, especially about medicine." Sighing, Hope frowned hard. "Why do I have to keep going to classes, anyway? Why can't I start doing something with my life?"

"You're sixteen, Hope. You're still young."

"Yeah, but can't I learn something I want to learn? Can't I start deciding things for myself?"

"Hope, please-"

"No, I'm serious!" Hope steeled himself, facing down Prowl across the table. "What's the end point for classes? I keep asking, and no one ever tells me. How long do classes go on? Prowler is a year older than me and he debates Wheeljack and Perceptor. He's bored, bored to death, and that's why he's always doing that stupid extra research. He can do any calculation that Wheeljack gives him, but what's the point? Why does he have to calculate the energy velocities of combining galaxies in order to protect the flight path of two freighters leaving from opposite space stations at different speeds? There aren't any inter-galactic freighters here. There aren't even any space stations! This is just busy work, and it's pointless."

"We may be building some," Prowl answered softly.

Hope shook his helm. "Okay, play the Devil's advocate, fine," he said. "But to what end are you keeping us in classes? Would you keep Prowler in classes until some kind of launch day? Or until you need him to calculate some crazy equation, just in the nick of time? Unless you've been hiding a pretty gigantic project from absolutely everybody, I don't think that there is any gigantic spaceship out there. I think you're just increasing the difficulty of classes because you don't know what to do next."

Prowl was silent for a long moment. "We do have ongoing projects that will take us off planet," he said. "Those aren't hidden, they're just not for you guys. Yet." He sighed. "I do want you guys to be involved though, eventually." Prowl paused. "Do you have any suggestions?"

Hope boggled for a moment, staring. "Yeah, actually," he said. "I think that we need to set up some kind of training program. A residency, or an internship, or apprenticeship. Prowler and I, we already know what we want to do. And Fawn and the others are getting pretty close to figuring it out for themselves. I don't want to be learning astrometrics anymore. I want to learn medicine and engineering." Hope inhaled deep. "I want to create an internship with Ratchet, and learn from him, and join the medical staff."

Prowl stared at Hope for a long moment. "And if you're wrong? If you, or Prowler, or Fawn, find out that that isn't what you want do with your life?"

Hope thought for a moment. "Then we reset. We go back to classes, learn some more, get more exposure to what's out there. Take another apprenticeship." He sat up, his optics brightening. "Maybe we can structure our own apprenticeship? Or at least the proposal? Outline what we want to do, what we want to learn. Some kind of time frame? That way, both we and our trainers can be held accountable."

"You're right, you know," Prowl said, when the silence had stretched too long. "We were thinking of keeping you in classes until you were twenty years old."

"Twenty years!" Hope's optics blazed.

"To be fair," Prowl said softly, "We were all in our versions of classes for far longer." He paused. "But, that was a different time and a different place. That society doesn't exist anymore." Sighing, Prowl held Hope's expectant, hopeful gaze. "Your idea is a very good one, Hope. A very good one."

Hope beamed at Prowl. He glowed when he smiled, and Prowl couldn't help smiling back in return. He just looked so happy, so pleased with himself, that Prowl was transported back to when Hope was a young mechlet, learning to walk for the first time, pride and joy in his optics as he managed steps on his own, fluttering doorwings working overtime to keep him steady. Now, he looked like a carbon copy of Prowl, from doorwings to chevron, except smaller all around. Slighter. But, those same piercing optics. The same high cheekarches. The same shapely lips. He was Prowl, all miniaturized, and Prowl's spark sang with joy as he bathed in Hope's smile.

Hope's smile faded, however, turning to a frown. "I… am going to have to apologize to Ratchet," he said quietly.

Prowl nodded. "I'm pleased you figured that out yourself."

"Think he'd still be interested in an apprenticeship if I'm, like, his least favorite mech right now?" Hope bit his lip.

"I don't know about least favorite," Prowl said, smiling sly. "There's a long list of 'least favorite' candidates for Ratchet." Prowl stood, pushing himself to his feet. "Let's go talk to him."

"Now?"

"No time like the present." Prowl smiled. "Besides, don't you want to start this apprenticeship in short order?"

"Primus, tomorrow, if I could." Hope bounced to his feet, expectancy thrumming through his lines.

Prowl chuckled. "Probably not tomorrow," he said. "But, if Ratchet agrees, and Wheeljack and Perceptor agree, and if Jazz agrees…" Prowl smiled. I really do think it's a great idea."

"Alright then," Hope steeled himself. "Let's go see Ratchet."

Prowl gestured toward the door, and Hope started walking, but as he passed by Prowl, Prowl's arms snaked out, grabbing Hope around the shoulders. He pulled his mechlet close, wrapping him up in a hug, and buried his face in Hope's neck. "I love you, Hope," Prowl whispered. "I love you so much."

Slowly, Hope's arms rose, wrapping around Prowl's larger frame. "I love you too," he whispered. His vocalizer was shaking.

"I'm very proud of you for always winning the races, too," Prowl said as they broke apart. He was smiling.

Hope gasped. "Alright, who is the mechlet with the big mouth?"

Prowl just smiled.

Nervous, Hope fidgeted. "Do we have to remove the mods?"

Prowl peered at Hope. "What's your new top speed?"

"A **mighty** 67 miles per hour," Hope sighed. It hurt to even admit.

Prowl tried, he really did, to smother his grin. "We'll see."

* * *

><p>Hope's apology to Ratchet was professional and heartfelt. He stood his ground, apologized for what he had done, looked Ratchet in the optics, and promised to never do so again. He explained what he had been doing – searching for a way to override the mods to their alt mode – and that he had searched for the safest way possible. Hope let Ratchet scan his mods, and Ratchet had to admit that Hope had done a safe and effective job.<p>

Prowl squeezed Hope's shoulder when he was through. His optics shone, speaking for him. _Well done. _Hope smiled back as his doorwings relaxed.

Across the medbay, First Aid was reconstructing an arm. It appeared to be one of Smokescreen's spares. Prowl recognized the larger attachment joints for the cables and wired connections designed to help support doorwings. Hope's attention was suddenly lost to Ratchet and Prowl, and his optics fixed onto First Aid.

Prowl followed his gaze. "First Aid," Prowl called out. "Hope would like to watch you. Is that alright?"

Startled, First Aid only looked up quickly. His optics narrowed toward Hope before he turned back. "Only if he makes himself useful!" First Aid called back. One hand waved behind him, pointing generally toward the supply bins. "Grab a bit set and come here."

Hope raced off, delight in his optics, as Prowl chuckled. He turned to Ratchet, and even the medic was trying to smile at Hope's enthusiasm.

"First Aid is taking after you, Ratchet," Prowl teased.

"Only the best parts," Ratchet quipped back. He hesitated, then, "I appreciate you bringing him down here to apologize."

"It was all his idea."

Ratchet arched his optic ridges at Prowl. Prowl nodded. "All his."

"Maybe he'll turn out alright after all," Ratchet grunted.

"I think he's just fine." Prowl watched as First Aid guided Hope into setting up one of his microbits, and then, gently reach into the delicate forearm conjunction. Hope was hanging on every word, every moment of First Aid's guidance.

"Ratchet, Hope brought an interesting proposal to me recently." He glanced sideways. "The older mechlets are wanting to start apprenticeships. Work in the field they think they'd like to pursue as a career."

Ratchet pursed his lips. "Not a bad idea. I know Wheeljack has been struggling with where to with the oldest ones."

"Prowler and Hope would be first, though I suspect Fawn would be right behind them both. And Roader and Piston." Prowl's optics followed Hope's careful surgery with First Aid. He'd never seen Hope so captivated, so entranced, so absorbed in anything in a very long time.

"Prowler will follow you," Ratchet grunted. He smirked at Prowl. "He's always had a bit of a hero worship thing with you."

Frowning, Prowl shook his helm. "I did nothing to encourage that. Prowler is a good mechlet. He has a mind for Operations. If he wanted to join the Command Deck Ops staff, that would be a significant benefit to the team."

Smiling, Ratchet turned and headed back into his office, gesturing for Prowl to follow. Ratchet sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. "What about Hope?" His optics darted out his office window, watching First Aid and Hope, helm to helm.

"Hope would like to apprentice here, with your staff."

Throwing his helm back, Ratchet laughed out loud, long and full. "Oh, I should have seen that coming," he finally said. Shaking his helm, Ratchet met Prowl's narrowed optics. "Prowl, do you know how many times I've chased your little mechlet out of my medbay? How many times I've caught him playing with my supplies?"

"He's always been very interested in your work."

"Don't I know it." Ratchet sighed. "Look, he made a big error with that hack. And now you want to reward him with an apprenticeship to exactly what he wants?"

"No," Prowl corrected. "I'm trying to modify our educational system to actually take care of our oldest mechlets. Hope is acting out because he doesn't feel there is a future for him. Prowler is bored and sullen. They need more." He paused. "And Hope is still grounded until he is thirty for that hack job. He knows that."

Ratchet mulled Prowl's words over. "So what are you thinking with this apprenticeship?"

"Hope will actually be in charge of the details, with approval by the department – you - ," Prowl began. "But, for me, I'm thinking that the mornings will still be spent at classes, but probably in more of a leadership role. Helping out with the Elementary or Nursery levels, for example. Then, at midday, they would spend the rest of the day with their apprenticeship. They'd be essentially working a half-shift. It's longer than a school day, but they'd be getting practical experience."

Nodding, Ratchet met Prowl's gaze. "That sounds doable. I know First Aid has been wanting some company in here. And we are thin in the medical ranks."

Prowl watched Hope through the glass window. First Aid was rapping his knuckles with a small wrench. He pointed to the wrist joint, then to the correct bit for Hope to use. Chastised, Hope quickly corrected his mistake and went back to work. "You know, Ratchet, you knew Hope wanted to be a medic before I did," Prowl said sadly. "I had no idea."

"I have no idea what Didget eats every day, but he manages to stay online," Ratchet grunted. Prowl smiled as Ratchet moved behind Prowl and gripped his shoulder. "You're an excellent parent, Prowl."

"It's been hard recently…" Prowl's voice was soft and faded to nothing.

"There are always the hard days," Ratchet agreed. "But the smiles make it worthwhile." Together, the two mechs watched Hope beam up at First Aid as the arm they were working on clenched into a fist. First Aid nodded to Hope.

"You're a good parent, too, Ratchet," Prowl smiled at his friend.

"I'm a prolific parent," Ratchet correct, smirking. "About the only sparking control method Wheeljack and I haven't tried is separate quarters."

Prowl laughed, hard. "Is that so?"

"I can't hold a ground, not since we took the first one out." Ratchet smiled ruefully. "And now we've got eight little mechlets running around. Who would have ever thought?"

"I believe your family qualifies as a 'tribe,' Ratchet." Prowl's spark pulled, tugging inside him. "You guys planning on any more?"

"Well, if the pattern holds, were okay for a while, as my systems readjust after Bam_Bam. We're having one every two years, like clockwork. I'd like to slow down, but we just don't know how."

Prowl arched an optic ridge toward Ratchet.

Ratchet ignored Prowl. "We're going to look into modifying Wheeljack's systems. Maybe clamp his transfluid lines."

Prowl nodded, and silence settled over the pair. "Ratchet-" Prowl began, at the same time Ratchet spoke. "Prowl, let's-"

Both mechs quieted, Prowl staring at Ratchet with bright optics. Ratchet sighed. "Prowl, let's set an appointment to discuss your test results."

"Can't we do that now?"

Ratchet shook his helm. He held Prowl's gaze. "Let's set an appointment, Prowl."

Prowl swallowed, feeling each gear rise and fall in this throat. Ratchet didn't often set appointments. "Okay," he said. He forced his vocalizer to be level. "Do you have time tomorrow?"

Ratchet nodded, and finally he looked away, looking down. "How about 11?"

"I'll be here."

Ratchet nodded again, then motioned toward First Aid and Hope. "Want to go give your mechlet the good news?"

"When would you be open to starting this?"

Ratchet shrugged. "Let me talk to First Aid, but I think we could get going next week, if that works for you. I know Wheeljack will be happy about this.

"I'm talking to him next, but later this afternoon, after classes." Prowl nodded toward Hope. "We're going to spend the day together."

"I'll see what he thinks tonight." Ratchet walked Prowl to his office door.

Prowl's doorwings were tense, vibrating behind his back. Ratchet sighed, watching them flicker. "Tomorrow, Prowl," he said. "11 o'clock."

Prowl nodded without looking back.

* * *

><p>Sideswipe and Sunstreaker heard the plan from Wheeljack and Perceptor via a private message through the <em>ParentNet<em>, a comms subsystem group set up in Teletraan to communicate with the parents, teachers, and medical staff of all the mechlets. Wheeljack and Perceptor let Sideswipe and Sunstreaker know that there were plans in place to begin apprenticeships for the oldest mechlets within the next few weeks, with Prowler as one of the first scheduled to pick his apprenticeship. Curious, the twins tried to comm Prowl, but he wasn't on base. After the disastrous dinner the night before, this was one of the last things they had expected.

When they headed home, the twins found Prowler silently playing one of their video games, idly thumbing his avatar through the combat motions onscreen. One superhero ripped the head off another superhero, and Prowler was proclaimed the victor. He didn't react. He didn't even look at his parents.

"Hey Prowler," Sideswipe smiled. He leaned on the couch edge. "How are you?"

Prowler shrugged. His optics were glued to the screen start up for the next round.

"How was class?" Sideswipe tried again.

This time, Prowler grumbled, but it wasn't any type of words or language that anyone could decipher.

Sunstreaker moved, blocking the television with his body. He frowned down at Prowler.

Prowler dropped the controller on the table and sat back on the couch. He refused to meet his parents' gaze. "I'm fine," he grunted.

"You're not fine," Sunstreaker grunted. "What's going on?"

Prowler shrugged.

Sighing, Sideswipe slid over the couch arm and settled down next to Prowler. "Look, I know you take after Sunny here," he said, gesturing to Sunstreaker, "and his famously verbose personality, but this is really going too far. You've said ten words to us in three days." Sideswipe ducked his helm down, finding Prowler's optics. "I counted."

That earned a tiny smile from Prowler, but he looked away quickly.

"Was it last night?" Sunstreaker asked.

Prowler's leg started to fidget, bouncing up and down. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a long look.

"What upset you?" Sideswipe reached for Prowler's knee, resting his hand on the joint. Sunstreaker sat on the couch table, resting his elbows on his knees as his sat right in front of Prowler. "Hope was very angry last night. I'm sure he didn't mean all of what he said."

Prowler shook his helm. "No, he meant it," he grumbled. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Sunstreaker said. "You guys are best friends."

"Were." Prowler heaved a heavy sigh. "I don't try to make him feel bad. I just… I just do my schoolwork."

"We know," Sideswipe said, gripping Prowler's knee. "And you're awesome at it. You're so smart, way smarter than either Sunny or I." He grinned.

"I mean, there's not like there's any other choice. We have to go to classes. We have to do our work." Prowler shook his helm. "Why does Hope fight that so much?"

"Would you believe us if we said it was because he and Prowl are identical?" Sunstreaker arched his optic ridges toward Prowler.

Prowler scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"Totally true," Sideswipe said. "Prowl is just as stubborn as Hope is. And likes to push envelopes, especially when he's passionate about something."

Prowler chewed on his lip. "Yeah, that's Hope. 'Passionate.'"

"You guys have always been opposites," Sunstreaker said, "But you've always been friends. You're still friends." He paused. "Though, you might not be seeing him for a while. I'm sure he's grounded until he's twenty-five."

"Fifty," Sideswipe countered. "Grounded until he's fifty. And that'll be from Jazz."

Sunstreaker chuckled and shook his helm. Prowler had never had to be grounded. Not once.

Prowler huffed another long sigh. He was still quiet, too quiet. Though, Prowler was a mech of a thousand words… ever. More reticent than Sunstreaker had ever been, and serious. Darkly serious. Mulish at times, sullen at others. He hadn't truly let loose and laughed, or played, in years.

Sideswipe sometimes missed his giggling, carefree sparkling. He was so different from the mech that Prowler was growing into.

"I don't want to be Prowl's mechlet," Prowler finally mumbled. He was looking down, chin almost in his chestplates.

"Hmm?" Sideswipe leaned forward.

"I don't want to be Prowl's mechlet." Prowler raised his head, meeting Sunstreaker's gaze. "I don't want to be just like him."

Sunstreaker smiled, soft and tiny. Sideswipe gripped Prowler's knee, hard. "We all have a little bit of hero worship for Prowl, Bug."

"I like Operations because that what you guys do," Prowler grumbled. He flicked at a paint chip on his thigh. "It's your guys' job too."

Sideswipe felt his spark melt inside his chest. "Oh, Bug," he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Prowler's helm. "It wasn't always. We were frontline fighters in the war. Prowl himself retrained us to Ops… after you arrived." Sideswipe smiled and stroked Prowler's helm.

"You can do anything that you want to do," Sunstreaker said. There was power in his voice, conviction. "No one can tell you what you can or can't do. No one." He exhaled, hard. "It's all about what you want."

"I wish I could do more," Prowler grunted.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a long look. "Well, maybe you can," Sideswipe said with a smile.

Prowler looked up, finally, glancing between the two. Sunstreaker smirked. "Wheeljack comm'd us after classes today. Said that the oldest mechlets are going to start an apprenticeship soon." His smile grew. "An apprenticeship of your choice."

Prowler's optics surged and he jolted up. "You mean, I could actually do something? Go with you guys on shift?"

Sideswipe nodded, slow.

Prowler's jaw dropped open as his optics blazed. He smiled wide. "I've wanted to do that for so long!"

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sideswipe leaned back, out of the way of Prowler's excited quiver.

Prowler shrugged. "Didn't think anything would happen. Not like I can change anything."

"Hey." Sunstreaker slapped at Prowler's knee. "We will always listen to you. And move the earth for you." He fixed Prowler with his optics. "Okay?"

Prowler nodded, his optics wide.

"Well, Wheeljack said that he wanted the mechlets to come up with their own plans for an apprenticeship, so I say we get started on brainstorming!" Sideswipe pushed himself up, breaking the moment between Prowler and Sunstreaker. "Let's go plot your takeover of Operations, hmm?"

Beaming, Prowler followed Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to the table. He wasn't jabbering, wasn't chattering with ideas, but happiness radiated from his plating, and for now, that was more than enough.

* * *

><p>Jazz felt like he'd dropped into an alternate universe when he got back to their quarters that evening. He stopped short, one foot still in the air, just inside the door.<p>

Hope and Prowl were curled up on the couch together, Hope stretching out, his helm in Prowl's lap, while Prowl stroked over his chevron. The two mechs were reading together. Reading. Not that seeing Prowl reading off a data pad was anything unusual, but Jazz hadn't even seen Hope carry a data pad in about four years, much less look at one with anything less than pure disdain. And, it had been a long, long, long time since Hope had even been in the same room with Prowl without a sneer marring his expression or a scowl stretched over his face. The two had been at odds for months, and it had only grown worse and worse. Instead of turning to Jazz, Hope had distanced himself from Jazz as well, but he hadn't gifted Jazz with the same vitriol that he had Prowl.

And there they were, lounging together, looking identically relaxed, looking – Jazz dared think it – _happy_.

And, Primus-forbid, Hope was reading.

Jazz almost didn't want to move, didn't want to speak. He didn't want to break whatever spell was going on. "Hey," he called out softly, almost a whisper. "What's going on?"

Hope barely glanced away from his data pad. "Hey Jazz," he called back. He sounded happy, and he waved, but his optics went right to what he was reading.

Raising his optic ridges, Jazz turned to Prowl.

Prowl was caught between beaming and sobbing, too much relief and happiness pushing at the corners of his optics. His hand kept stroking Hope's helm as he stared at Jazz, squeezing his lips tight, trying to fight back the surging emotions.

Jazz smiled back and headed to join them. He could feel his backstruts unwind, could feel the springs in his shoulder's loosen. Prowl's optics tracked his every step, and Prowl leaned heavily into Jazz as Jazz perched on the couch arm next to him.

"_Good day?" _Jazz comm'd Prowl privately.

"_The best."_ Prowl set down his pad and laced his fingers through Jazz's.

"What are you reading, Hope?" Jazz stroked his fingers over Prowl's palm. He could feel Prowl's happiness, feel his body relax, feel how Prowl hadn't been in a long time.

Hope barely managed to tear his optics from the data pad. "It's a set of books Ratchet gave me," he said. His optics were already back to the screen. "_The Cybertronian Anatomy_. The first series of books a medic reads."

"A medic?" Jazz grinned as Prowl squeezed his hands.

Hope finally lowered his data pad and rolled his helm back, actually looking at Jazz this time. "Yeah. I really, really want to be a medic. Prowl and I talked, and he said that I could start training if Ratchet said it was okay. Ratchet did, so…" Hope beamed and waved the pad in his hands.

Jazz's visor was glowing, his optic ridges sky high. "Wow…" he breathed.

"There was a bit more to it than that," Prowl chuckled. "And it was actually Hope's idea. Hope suggested the older mechlet's start an apprenticeship program. We talked to Wheeljack after classes. He thought it was a great idea. He's comming Prowler to see what he wants to do. Hope already knew." Prowl smiled down at his mechlet.

"I've known since I was twelve." Hope didn't look away from the pad. His optics moved over every word, soaking up the knowledge.

"_I haven't seen him read like this since…"_ Jazz's comm faded off as he struggled to remember.

"_It's be a long time since he's been this excited about anything, other than upsetting us."_ Prowl squeezed Jazz's hand, hard.

"_Congrats, love. You're amazing. I knew you could reach him."_

"_I didn't do anything other than listen."_

Jazz smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to Prowl's helm. "_I think that's what he needed._"

Standing, Jazz leaned over to ruffle Hope's helm. Hope didn't react, and Jazz chuckled at him. "So, Prowl, you ready for the game tonight?"

Smiling, Prowl nodded. "I can almost taste our victory."

At that, Hope turned, raising quizzical optic ridges toward his parents. "What?"

Jazz helped pull Prowl to his feet. Hope scooted back, resting his helm on the couch arm as Prowl stood. "Our slingball team is about to win our bracket." Jazz wrapped an arm around Prowl's shoulders. "Turns out this guy can sling with the best of them."

"Oh yeah?" Hope actually sat up at that, turning to gaze at Prowl. "I didn't know you played slingball." The mechlets sometimes played a mini version of the game against one of the canyon walls, but they couldn't get the hover platforms or jet boosts, not to mention the mid-court pyramid hoops, that the full actual game entailed.

"It's my first season," Prowl shrugged, at the same time Jazz said, "He's amazing. I would have pulled you out there sooner, love."

Hope smiled, watching his parents. "Can I go watch?"

Pausing, Prowl and Jazz glanced at each other. Hope, no matter how well-behaved right now, was still grounded. He had to pay for what he had done. However, he'd never once shown any interest in accompanying his parents before. Was this because he was really interested, or because he wanted to get out of being grounded?

Hope saw through their silence. "Never mind," he said quickly, lying back down. "I have a lot of reading to do." He waved at the two. "Why don't I go see the next game?" He smiled up at Prowl. "It will be way cooler to cheer you on when you're playing for the championship."

Prowl smiled and leaned down to kiss Hope's helm. "I'll win this game just for you."

"Now **that's** cool!" Hope smiled back, but in no time, he was back to his data pad.

"Leftovers are in the storage cube, Hope," Jazz said. "We won't be back too late. And, you know the rules, right?"

Absently, Hope nodded. "Yeah, I'm grounded, no TV, no games, no friends, no comms, unless it's an emergency."

"Sounds good. See you later. Love ya!" Jazz wondered if Hope would actually follow those rules this time, as he so rarely ever did. There was this ball of expectancy, though, that he could feel in the air. Second chances, perhaps. An opportunity to let Hope choose a new path.

Hope mumbled, waving one hand as he scrolled down the data pad.

Jazz held his laughter in until he and Prowl made it out into the hallway. Didget and Widget ran by, skirting around their knees as they chased each other down the corridor, giggling and shrieking. Up ahead, Fawn was hanging out with Roader, chatting and slouching against the walls. The two clammed up as they spotted Prowl and Jazz, and Prowl couldn't resist raising his optic ridges at them suspiciously.

"So Hope seems real into this medical apprenticeship," Jazz started. "I have never seen him voluntarily read. He's been allergic to data pads since he was thirteen."

"Even Ratchet knew Hope wanted to be a medic." Prowl shook his helm. "I can't believe we never saw it."

"Well, we know now," Jazz said, threading their fingers together. "And he's happy, and we're happy he's happy."

"Primus, yes," Prowl groaned. They both stopped at the lift doors as Jazz pressed the lift call pad.

"What else is going on, love?" Jazz tilted his helm, watching Prowl's doorwings tense and relax minutely.

Prowl was silent for a moment. "Ratchet wants to discuss my test results," he finally said. "He set up an appointment for tomorrow morning."

"An appointment?" Jazz couldn't stop the surprise in his voice.

"Yeah." Prowl swallowed as he stepped into the arriving lift. His doorwings were high. Tense. "I'm worried."

Jazz followed, and he reached for Prowl's hands. "Love, whatever it is, we'll deal with it together."

Exhaling, Prowl leaned his helm into Jazz's. "I'm afraid of being broken," Prowl whispered.

"You're not broken," Jazz insisted, cradling Prowl's face. "You're Prowl, and you're perfect. Perfect Prowl."

Snorting, Prowl shook his helm, but he nuzzled Jazz's palms and kissed each of his wrists as the lift began to move. "I love you," Prowl whispered, catching on his gears.

"And I love you." Jazz pressed a long kiss to Prowl's chevron, letting his lips linger.

Finally, Prowl straightened, pulling himself back together. The lift slowed, and they stepped out onto the roof of the _Ark_. The roof had been converted into a series of game fields and courts for slingball over the years. Electric nets crackled around the sides of the ship, keeping balls and 'bots onboard and safe.

"How are your new songs coming?" Prowl asked.

"Pretty good, but I'm going to take some time before I record anything again." The two were the first to arrive from their team, and they started stretching together on the side of the court.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Blaster is creating some mixes and Hound is cutting some tracks." Jazz twisted, trying to loosen up his back, trying to get those final springs to unclench. "And I heard a rumor that Mirage might be writing somethin'-somethin."

Prowl laughed out loud. "Oh no. We're going to have to censor the radio again." Mirage's songs were the nastiest, most provocative, filthiest songs to be written so far. That was surprising to nearly everyone, except his very few friends.

Jazz had single-handedly created the resurgent music industry in the Autobots. What started as a form of self-therapy exploded into a creative surge. Mechs who had never thought about music before were suddenly writing lyrics or creating rhythms. Prowl felt it was due to the deeply personal power of Jazz's early compositions. _"Coming Home"_ had been a soundtrack that detailed Jazz's turbulent emotions as he processed the end of the war, his struggle to reintegrate, his struggles with Prowl, with letting go, and with his new place in the world. Each song had been the favorite on the _Ark_ for weeks, and there wasn't a place you could go where someone wasn't listening to one of the tracks… often with clenched gears and white optics and a sob caught in their chest.

At the time, Jazz had still been shunned from the crew at large, for the most part.

"_Love Songs to My Spark"_ helped to close that divide, as Jazz wrote songs specifically for Prowl, trying to convey in music what he fumbled to say in words. More than one sparkling had been made to a backdrop of Jazz's music.

By then, other mechs were composing and recording, and the musical explosion had begun. Open Mic night in the Rec room was held once a month, though it often devolved into a lyrical battle between Jazz and another.

Mirage and Hound finally arrived, dropping the gear as they began their stretches. The twins had arrived too, setting up on the opposite side of the court. Ironhide was late, as usual, but Bluestreak was jogging across the deck.

"Hey, saw Fawn on the way," Jazz called, waving to Mirage.

"He looked suspicious," Prowl added.

Mirage sighed heavily. "He's always looking suspicious these days."

"He gets that from you." Hound pointed at Mirage, who fixed him with a withering glare. "What, it's true!" Hound leaned over to kiss Mirage's cheek as Mirage dropped into a low stretch. He couldn't escape, and instead swatted at Hound's helm.

"He gets the dirt from you," Mirage quipped back at Hound. Despite the verbal sparring, there was a deep light in their optics, warm and gentle.

* * *

><p>At first, Hope didn't notice the soft tapping on the door. He was too engrossed in his data pad, and he hadn't even stopped to eat. But the tapping wouldn't stop, and finally, he registered the intrusion on his sensor net.<p>

Someone was tapping on his door. Someone who didn't want to record a doorchime in the logs.

Sighing, Hope crossed to the door and leaned into it. "What's up?" he called through the metal.

"Hope!" Fawn's happy voice called back. "C'mon out! I know your parents are off playing slingball. We can get out, go do something. You can sneak back in before they're back."

Closing his optics, Hope rested his helm against the door. If Fawn had asked him yesterday, he'd be out of the quarters faster than Prowl could get angry at him. But now… "Nah, sorry Fawn. I can't."

"What!"

"I really can't, Fawn. I need to stay in."

"You never stay in! Especially not when you're grounded!"

"This time is different." Hope chewed on his lip. "I'll see you tomorrow at class?"

Hope heard Fawn's heavy sigh from the other side of the door. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you tomorrow." There was a long pause, and Hope didn't hear any movement. "Hope?" Fawn called again.

"Yeah?"

"I missed you today. Can I… Can I walk with you to classes tomorrow?"

Smiling, Hope nodded, even though Fawn couldn't see him. "That'd be cool."

"Awesome," Fawn whispered. "Well… I'll see you tomorrow. G'night."

This time, Hope heard Fawn's footsteps as he walked away. He waited, his helm pressed against the door, listening until he couldn't hear them anymore. He was still smiling, and that smile stayed stretched over his face as he crawled back onto the couch and turned his data pad back on.

He was still smiling when Prowl and Jazz returned, flush with their victory and overjoyed at seeing Hope follow their rules for the first time in ages.


	2. Chapter 2

**Unforeseen Two**

* * *

><p>I was able to get a lot of writing done this week. I managed to get both chapters written, and after some editing work today, I decided to throw them both up. Enjoy!<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Six months later<strong>

Jazz woke up alone, in a cold berth, in the dark.

Frowning, Jazz checked the time – way too early – and rolled out of the berth with a groan. He'd disjointed his arm in the championship slingball game – but they'd still won – and no matter how much Ratchet said it was repaired, it still was tight and sore. Jazz rolled his shoulder joint as he palmed his way into the main room in their quarters.

Prowl was sitting at their table, in the dark, hands folded neatly on the tabletop. Only the dim light from his optics cast any sort of glow at all, a scattered, fractured pale blue.

"Prowl."

Jazz watched Prowl's shoulders rise and fall and his doorwings sag almost to the floor. "I had that dream again," Prowl whispered.

Sighing, Jazz moved to Prowl's side. He rested one hand on Prowl's shoulder, and he squeezed down when he felt the trembles quaking through Prowl's body. Prowl was barely hanging on. His knuckles were clenching hard, grinding together, forming microdents.

"I keep having the same dream," Prowl whispered. He was choking on his words, barely holding back his sobs. "We're outside, somewhere with grass, and green trees. We're playing. There's this ball, big and red, light as air…" Prowl's voice faded away. "We're playing with our sparkling. **Another** sparkling."

Finally, Prowl cracked and his sobs burst forth. Jazz wrapped Prowl up in his arms, pulling him toward his body. Prowl's arms grasped ontp Jazz as he buried his face in Jazz's midsection. "But it won't ever happen, Jazz," Prowl choked out. "I'm broken. I'm broken."

Jazz didn't know what to say. He never knew what to say when Prowl was lost in this pain. "I'm so sorry, love," he whispered. "You're not broken."

"I can't carry a sparkling," Prowl moaned. "How is that not broken?"

Jazz was silent.

"And, with what happened to you…" Prowl pressed his face into Jazz's abdomen, just over the empty spaces where Jazz's gestational tank used to be. "We'll never have another sparkling."

"I know you wanted more, love," Jazz said, stroking Prowl's helm. "I wanted more with you too."

"I wanted Hope to have siblings. I wanted to have a family with you."

"We do have a family," Jazz corrected. "We are a family. Hope is amazing." He grabbed Prowl's arms, pulling him back. "Hope is phenomenal. He's blossomed with this apprenticeship. He's more and more like you every day." Jazz smiled wide. "He's just as perfect as you are."

Prowl nodded, trying to smile. "I just don't think I'm ready for this to be over," he whispered. "I love being a parent. Even with everything we've been through."

Jazz didn't know what to say to that. He swallowed. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Prowl pitched forward, burying his face in Jazz's waist again. His hands stroked up and down Jazz's back, but his sobs lessened until he was just holding Jazz in the darkness.

* * *

><p>Sunstreaker bounced on Ratchet's medberth. His leg kicked out in a fast rhythm, nervous as he perched on the edge. His fingers curled and uncurled, curled and uncurled.<p>

Across the medbay, Hope and First Aid were constructing a full mech's frame, minus a spark, as part of Hope's apprenticeship. It was somewhat creepy to see a Cybertronian frame lying on the berth. Lifeless and powerless though it may be, it still looked weird. Too close to a corpse. Still, it was helping Hope in his studies, and he and First Aid worked on the frame whenever they didn't have patients.

Or, when they were shooed away by Ratchet so that Ratchet could work privately on a patient.

Sunstreaker watched, optics glued to Ratchet, as the medic left his office and crossed over toward Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker stared, looking for any sign, any give, any tell. Ratchet was looking down, he couldn't see his optics… Sunstreaker was going to burst with the anticipation if Ratchet didn't fragging say something already.

Finally, Ratchet looked up, and the answer was clear. Ratchet was smiling, his optics glowing. "Congratulations, Sunstreaker," Ratchet beamed. "You and Sideswipe are expecting your second sparkling."

Sunstreaker leapt to his feet, a savage grin splitting his face. He grabbed Ratchet and threw his arms around the medic in a rough hug. "Thanks," he grunted into Ratchet's audial. As quick as it had begun, Sunstreaker pushed off and the hug was done.

Swaying, Ratchet steadied himself against the medberth. "Yeah, yeah," Ratchet grumbled. "Maybe this time you'll think of naming him after me, huh?" Ratchet winked at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker snorted, clapped Ratchet on the arm, and pushed by him. "Gotta go tell Sides." He was jogging before he reached the door, and Ratchet just shook his helm. Seventeen years ago, Sunstreaker had had a very different reaction to his sparking with Sideswipe. Oh, how times had changed.

"What was that?" Hope called out. He stared after Sunstreaker, frowning. Sunstreaker had never been so demonstrative in all the years that he'd known him as Prowler's parent. He was like a larger version of Prowler – serious, stern, and often scowling.

"That," Ratchet said, walking over to join the two at the training frame, "is one of the happiest parts of this job." First Aid smiled, his optics crinkling above his blast mask. Hope just looked confused. "Show me your progress," Ratchet said, gesturing to the frame. "Pop quiz time."

Hope groaned.

"That's another 'best part,'" Ratchet teased.

* * *

><p>Sideswipe was in the Rec room with Prowler, taking a short break in the middle of the afternoon shift. Prowler had been working with Sideswipe for the past three months, after training up with Prowl at the beginning of his apprenticeship. Both mechs were fueling up, chatting with Mirage and Fawn, also taking a break from his apprenticeship in Engineering.<p>

Sunstreaker watched from the doorway to the Rec room, smiling softly at his family. He watched the curve of Sideswipe's face, the lines of his profile, and felt his spark fall in love all over again.

Sideswipe felt his brother's optics. He turned toward Sunstreaker, a question in his optics.

Sunstreaker smiled and nodded.

All at once, Sideswipe was on his feet, racing to his brother. "Sunny!" Sideswipe shouted. He whooped with joy as he ran, laughing and shouting all at once. Sunstreaker chuckled, then laughed as Sideswipe grabbed him and picked him up, swinging him awkwardly around by the waist in a full circle before dropping him down and kissing him hard.

Sunstreaker cupped Sideswipe's helm and kissed him back, soft and gentle. "We're having another sparkling," Sunstreaker whispered into his brother's lips as they parted.

"Sunny…." Sideswipe didn't know what to say. He only knew that his spark was bursting.

The entire Rec room had fallen silent, every mech staring at the twins. Sideswipe finally realized that the rest of the world still existed, and he stepped back, laughing sheepishly. "Sorry, guys," Sideswipe chuckled. "Just good news." He snaked his hand into Sunstreaker's and headed back toward their table. Sideswipe dropped a kiss to Prowler's helm as they sat down.

"And that was…?" Mirage's optics sparkled, a tiny smirk curving up one corner of his mouth.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a long look. Sunstreaker wrapped an arm around Prowler's shoulders. Prowler was as tall as he was now, though he hadn't filled out his frame yet.

"We're having another sparkling," Sideswipe said, barely containing his squirming excitement.

Prowler's jaw dropped, shock written all over his face as his optics blanched. Fawn grinned as Mirage clapped, and mechs at the table nearby cheered and clapped as well.

One voice singled out from the others. "Uh, are you guys sure that's a good idea?" Tracks, frowning from two tables over. "I thought Prowler was your guys' one and only exception."

Gasps sounded and voices rose, telling Tracks to keep his mouth shut.

"What?" Tracks called, raising his hands. "I'm just asking!"

"Just asking my aft!" Bluestreak shouted, rising from across the room. "You're being a jerk and you know it!"

"No, for once, I am not trying to!" Tracks shouted back. He glared at the Rec room's mechs, some staring at him angrily, some watching warily. One or two wore blank expressions, refusing to publicly back Tracks in this but thinking along the same lines. "I mean, what if there is bad code in those two?" He turned to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, frozen to shocked stillness. "No offense, guys," he bowed. "And now they're having multiple sparklings? What is that bad code gets spread around?"

"Shut your face, Tracks!"

"Sit down, you jerk!"

"Make your own sparklings if you're so concerned!"

Sideswipe forced himself to look away. He met Sunstreaker's murderous gaze. Sunstreaker was trembling, near shaking apart, and his hands had clenched to fists, vibrating against the tabletop. Mirage reached across the table, resting a hand on top of Sunstreaker's fist.

Sideswipe turned to Prowler, and froze.

Prowler looked utterly lost. He sat ramrod straight, staring around him as if the world had just turned inside out. Huge optics had drained of color, overly bright and overly round, and his jaw had clenched so tight the gears were straining and slipping. Sideswipe could hear his engine racing, whining inside his frame.

"Prowler?"

Prowler's optics flicked to Sideswipe, scared and lost and utterly alone.

"Let's go." Sideswipe grabbed Prowler's arm and pulled him to his feet, then did the same with Sunstreaker. Both mechs stumbled after Sideswipe as he hurried them out the Rec room doors. Twin expressions of despair haunted both parent and mechlet's faces, though Sunstreaker's was laced with murderous wrath and the deep-seated pain of a lifetime of rejection.

This was Prowler's first experience with rejection.

Sideswipe pushed the two down the corridors, racing to their quarters. He slapped the palm pad and ducked inside as soon as he could, dragging both mechs with him. Sunstreaker immediately started pacing, his hands still clenching and unclenching. Prowler stood alone, watching Sunstreaker with wide optics.

"What's going on?" Prowler finally asked. His voice was only a whisper.

Sighing heavily, Sideswipe collapsed down onto their couch. He buried his helm in his hands and moaned. "I guess this was bound to come out someday," he groaned.

"Fraggers," Sunstreaker spat. "He's a worthless fragger!"

Prowler's optics bounced between his two parents, blanching and streaking with static.

"Sunny…." Sideswipe held out his hand. "Please, come here. We need to talk to Prowler."

Sunstreaker froze, his back to Sideswipe and Prowler. A silent war waged in his frame, cables tensing, lines thrumming, and engine roaring. It would all be different after this, everything. Sunstreaker didn't know if he was ready. Why was something so wonderful suddenly so terrible? He hung his helm, and, exhaling, turned around.

Prowler swallowed as Sunstreaker headed for the couch, joining Sideswipe in a crashing slouch. He offlined his optics as he braced his elbows on his knees, and Sideswipe wrapped one arm around Sunstreaker while be beckoned for Prowler with the other.

"Prowler, we need to talk to you," Sideswipe began. His voice was shaking. "Please. Sit with us."

Prowler forced his feet to move, and he stopped an arm's length from his parents. Something warned him back, hesitant. He had never been frightened of his parents before, ever, but now, this, watching them... He was scared. He was terrified.

"There's no easy way to say this…." Sideswipe was stalling, his hands wringing. He sighed, swallowed, and squeezed his optics shut. A heavy inhale, a long exhale, and Sideswipe opened them again. "Prowler, Sunstreaker and I are brothers," he choked out. "We're twins."

Silence. Complete silence. No one moved. Sunstreaker held himself perfectly still, a miniature black hole, brilliant with rage. Prowler, always Sunstreaker's duplicate, froze as well, no motion, no movement, even as his processor whirled and stuttered.

"You mean… You're not my parents?" Prowler's vents hitched, running faster.

"No, that's not what we mean," Sideswipe said quickly. "We are your parents-"

Sunstreaker interrupted. "We're your parents, and we're brothers. We are twins, and we had you."

More silence, but this time, Prowler's racing vents broke the pall. "But…." Prowler finally spoke. "That's wrong, isn't it?"

Sunstreaker grimaced as Sideswipe sighed. "Yes and no?" Sideswipe tried. "What we did… what we're doing… it's called incest." Prowler recoiled, no longer able to hide his shock. Sideswipe cringed. "But, we are so in love, Prowler. I have loved Sunstreaker for my whole life, and he's loved me. It's right for us to love one another. I could never love anyone else, only Sunstreaker!"

Prowler's optics bounced from Sunstreaker to Sideswipe. "They said… you guys had bad code…"

"Ratchet has never found any bad code," Sunstreaker growled. "You can't find code for who you love."

"Bluestreak and Smokescreen are together, and they're same frame," Sideswipe tried. He was desperately trying to reach Prowler any way he could. "We're not the only ones!"

"But Bluestreak and Smokescreen don't have mechlets!" Prowler cried. "You had me! And you're having another one!" Prowler's vents were heaving, great inhales and exhales as his processor screamed and swam, swirling in confusion and too much emotion. "Are we broken?" Prowler demanded. "Are we disgusting?"

"No!" Sunstreaker roared. He shot up, leaping to his feet and stared Prowler down. "We are not disgusting! We are not freaks! We are not broken!"

Trembling, Prowler stumbled toward Sunstreaker, taking two steps before collapsing against his parent's frame. Sunstreaker's arms instantly wound around Prowler, holding him tight as sobs tore through his mechlet. Sideswipe wrapped his arms around Prowler from the side, burying his face in Prowler's hip. He tried to smother the sobs falling from his vocalizer, but a muffled keen broke through.

Sunstreaker pulled Prowler with him as he sat back down on the couch next to Sideswipe. Prowler followed, ending up perched in Sunstreaker's lap. Sideswipe tried to smile at the ridiculous sight –a full-grown Prowler trying to cuddle into Sunstreaker's chestplates like he was three years old. Sideswipe's hand stroked down Prowler's chestplate – a perfect replica of his own – and another keen stole out of his vocalizer. Sunstreaker wrapped one hand around Sideswipe's neck and pulled him close, wrapping his family up in his arms.

"What are we going to do?" Prowler whispered. "Are mechs really mad about you guys having another sparkling?"

"We're not going to do anything," Sunstreaker grunted. "We are what we are – a family that loves each other very deeply. We are what we have always been."

Sideswipe nodded. "We've been trying for another sparkling for years," he whispered. "We wanted you to have siblings. We didn't know why it was taking so long. We almost gave up." Sideswipe sniffed, replaying the moment Sunstreaker nodded to him from the Rec room door. He smiled at the memory. "This was supposed to be the third happiest day of our lives."

Both Prowler and Sunstreaker frowned at Sideswipe. "Third?"

"The day you and I bonded," Sideswipe nodded to Sunstreaker, "and the day Prowler emerged," he finished, nodding to Prowler. "Those are the first two happiest days of my life."

Finally, Prowler cracked a small smile, and it was nearly identical to Sunstreaker's tiny grin. It faded quickly. "Will you guys be allowed to keep this sparkling?"

Sunstreaker bristled at the question. His cables ran taught, his gears clenching. "No one will ever take my sparklings from me." He growled, his arms gripping Prowler tight. "No one."

"So… I'm going to have a brother?" Prowler's trembles were slowing down, and his breaths were slowing, matching speed with the rise and fall of Sunstreaker's chest.

Sideswipe smiled. "You are indeed." He grasped Prowler's hand. "Our family is going to grow."

Finally, Prowler smiled back at Sideswipe. "I always wanted a brother," he whispered. "I was always the big brother to every mechlet, but I never had my own."

"You will," Sunstreaker said, "in six months."

Prowler smiled again, wider this time. "Will he share my room?"

The twins nodded. "He'll be with us at first, when he needs a lot of care. You recharged with us for two years before you got your own berth."

Prowler nodded. "Can I help? With taking care of him?"

Beaming, Sideswipe nodded. "Of course! We're going to be counting on you to help."

"Okay." Prowler nodded again, almost to himself. His optics dimmed, and Sideswipe could practically see the gears turning in his processor, see his thoughts swirling and mixing. "Okay," Prowler repeated with another nod. He sat up, pushing off of Sunstreaker's chest. "So. What happens now? None of the other mechlets know about our family being like we are." It was half a question, half a statement.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe shook their helms. "The crew always kept it quiet. They were very respectful of that."

"Until today," Sunstreaker growled.

"I bet Tracks is in for a world of hurt." Sideswipe shook his helm. "I'll ask Mirage what he told Fawn. I'm sure he was able to cover with something. He's very smooth."

"So…" Prowler swallowed. "This is a secret. I shouldn't tell anyone."

Sighing, Sideswipe stroked Prowler's cheek. "It's only a secret because we thought it would be easier for you. I am not ashamed of loving Sunstreaker." Sideswipe smiled at his brother. "But I know that it could be hard for you if you were teased or if the other mechlets didn't understand." He cupped Prowler's chin. "We kept it secret for you."

Prowler nodded again, slowly. "I suppose I should thank you," he said. "For an un-teased mechlethood."

Sideswipe laughed at that, pulling Prowler toward him for a hug. "How did you become so serious?" Sideswipe kissed the back of Prowler's helm as Prowler, for a blessed moment, wasn't serious and burrowed into Sideswipe's arms and chest. "We love you so much, Bug."

Prowler's response was muffled against Sideswipe's chestplates, but they could still hear it. "I love you too."

* * *

><p>Prowler lasted three weeks.<p>

The secret was too big, and it gnawed at him from the inside. Every time he let his processor wander, there it was, chewing on his lines, worrying at his wires. _You're the product of incest!_ He tried to busy himself with more work, with throwing himself into his apprenticeship even more whole-sparked than he already had. He couldn't stay and pull doubles – Sideswipe dragged him home at the end of the shift. _Your parent's are brothers!_ But he was able to grab extra data pads and try to force himself to read more, try to force his processor to quiet its screaming. _You're a complete and total freak!_

Prowler paced outside the _Ark_. His hands were shaking and he couldn't get them to stop, no matter how much he tried to shake them out. What would happen when he told? Primus, was this going to destroy everything? He didn't know – he just knew he couldn't go on like this, like he was about to explode from the pressure and the shame.

Finally – late – Hope sauntered around the corner of Prowler's hidden little rock cove.

Prowler's spark burst as he watched. A whimper tore from his vocalizer before he could crush it. He raced to Hope and threw his arms around his friend, squeezing him tight as he buried his face in Hope's neck. It was more a tackle than anything else, and Prowler clung to Hope as if his friend were a lifeline, as if Prowler were sinking to the depths.

"Whoa!" Hope threw his hands up. He froze. "What the slag, Prowler?"

Prowler squeezed harder. Now that they were both in apprenticeships, he and Hope didn't see each other as much as before, when they were bored in classes and didn't have anything to do except bother each other. Mornings were full of helping the other levels, and then the apprenticeships started. They hadn't even had dinner together in six months. Prowler missed his friend.

Sighing, Prowler finally loosened his hold. "Sorry," he grunted. He backed away, not looking at Hope. "M'sorry."

Frowning, Hope tried to catch Prowler's optics. He failed. "What's going on? You call me out here to leap on me?"

Prowler shook his helm. He couldn't speak. His gears were sticking and his optics were blanching, static creeping in on the edges. He bit down on the edge of his lip and turned away. _You're such a freak! You're such a freak! You're such a freak!_

"Prowler?"

"I…" Prowler's vocalizer stuttered, his words grinding and failing. He grimaced, his hands grasping into fists. His mouth opened and closed, and only a keening whine pushed out.

"Primus, Prowler." Hope reached for Prowler's elbow. This was something he'd never seen before. Prowler had always been the stoic one, the in-control one. He'd never lost it, never. "What is it?"

"Sides… and Sunny…" Prowler began. His vents heaved as he started to panic. _Broken! Monster!_

"Did something happen to them? To the sparkling?" By now, it was common knowledge that Sunstreaker was sparked. The _Ark_, it seemed, was full of joy and happiness for Sunstreaker. But Prowler wondered. Was that true?

"Primus, Hope…" Prowler gasped and offlined his optics, squeezing them shut. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and gambled everything on his friend. "Sides and Sunny are brothers. They're brothers, and they had a sparkling together – me!"

Hope's optics blazed as he gasped. His jaw dropped, mouth forming a perfect O. "What?" he whispered.

"My family is made out of incest!" Prowler cried. He buried his face in his hands as he sobbed. "I only just found out," he moaned. "With the new sparkling."

"Wow," Hope breathed. "That's…" He trailed off.

"I'm such a freak!" Prowler shouted. He glared at Hope, savage and pained, full of dark rage. Though he had Sideswipe's frame, for the moment, it was Sunstreaker looking out. "I'm a monster, made from incest."

Hope squared himself against Prowler and grasped Prowler's shoulders in his hands. Prowler was a head taller, and was just starting to fill out, whereas Hope had just barely made it to Jazz's height and was still slight. "Prowler," Hope started, staring him in the optics. "You are not a monster. You are not a freak."

"But-"

"Shut the frag up," Hope snapped. "You're not. You're Prowler, the smartest mechlet in the 'bots, already working in the Command Team, and my best friend." Hope shook Prowler, hard. "Do you think no one knew at all?"

"You knew?" Prowler gasped.

"No." Hope shook his helm. "But I know that the older mechs, the G1ers? They would know." The crew had started to identify the mechlets as G2, with the older mechs, the parents, being G1ers. "How could Sides and Sunny have fallen in love, dated, and had you in secret? They couldn't. So, their friends had to have known that they were in love. And, they're okay in the crew. There's no problem there. Sooo… it must be okay, right?" Hope was trying to make the logic jumps as he spoke.

"Tracks said…" Prowler swallowed. "Tracks said that he thought I was Sides and Sunny's one and only 'exception', as a sparkling."

"Tracks is an asshole and no one likes him." Hope reached for Prowler's chin, lifting it up. "Everyone is happy for your family with this new sparkling."

"They told me to keep it a secret," Prowler whispered. "That it was for my own good."

"Look, I'm not going to lie, it's unusual," Hope said. Prowler shrank in on himself, but Hope grabbed his shoulders. "But! That's not a bad thing! Think of how deeply they must have been in love!" He found Prowler's optics, forcing his gaze. "Do I think everyone will understand? No. Can you imagine if Dragon found out?" Hope shuddered. "But I don't think it's a bad thing. And I certainly don't think you're a freak or a monster." Hope grinned. "And if you are a freak, it's only because you're so ridiculously in love with your studies, and now with your apprenticeship."

Snorting, Prowler punched Hope in the chest, gently. "Says you," he grunted. "Who stays after in the medbay, when their shift is over?"

Hope just smiled. "I am really happy, and I think you've been happy too."

Prowler nodded.

"Nothing's changed, Prowler. Your parents are exactly who they have been all this time. So are you. I think that it's a secret just because some won't understand, but your friends? The people who matter?" Hope smiled, squeezing Prowler's shoulders again. "We'll always love you, mech."

Prowler chewed on his lip as he stared at the ground. He shifted in Hope's grasp, but finally, he raised his helm and met Hope's gaze. "Thanks," he breathed.

Hope pulled their helms together, resting their forehelms against one another. "Anytime," he breathed back. Prowler's hand rose, resting on Hope's hips.

The two stood together, not moving, just holding on to each other, as the wind swirled around their frames and the sun began to set. Golden rays burst across the desert sands, enflaming the wild scrubland and desert wastes. Finally, Prowler pushed back. "I'm going to go for a drive," he muttered. "I need to clear my processor."

Hope nodded. He rubbed Prowler's arm, then backed away. "If you need anything, I'm always here."

Prowler smiled, then dropped into his alt mode. The modified Peel P50 sped off at its sedate pace, rumbling over the sands. Hope chuckled to himself as he watched Prowler slowly drive away. They really would need new alt modes soon.

Hours later, Prowler trudged back to his quarters. The voices screaming in his processor had quieted somewhat, but he still felt off. Still felt that there was something fundamental about himself that was different now with this knowledge that he was a product of incest. His optics trained on every mech he passed by in the corridors. Did that mech think less of him? What did they think? Did they even know?

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were huddled together over a data pad, smiling and laughing, when Prowler walked in. Prowl and Jazz were visiting, and they were both leaning over the back of the couch, smiling down at the twins and whatever was on the data pad. All helms turned toward Prowler as he walked in.

"Prowler!" Sideswipe called. "Come see your little brother!"

Slowly, Prowler moved to join them. His gaze darted over Prowl and Jazz. Surely they must know. Surely they must. They were Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's best friends. He was named after Prowl, for Primus' sake. They had never treated him differently.

When Prowler was close enough, Sideswipe handed him the data pad. On screen, Ratchet's medical scan displayed Sunstreaker's gestational tank and an ultrasonic reading of the sparkling growing inside. He was tiny, bunched up in a ball, and his feet and hands were barely even there. Still, it was a sparkling – his little brother – and Prowler felt his spark gutter in his chest. Time froze, standing still, and all sounds ceased. The world drained of color as everything faded away except for the data pad in his hands and the grainy, black and white image of his brother's slowly-spinning frame.

Prowler's processor swam, smearing in his helm, and then he remembered to breath, Inhaling, the world suddenly rushed back in, sounds and colors and people and everything in the now, and Prowler gasped, startled. His spark was pounding, racing, about to burst out of his chest.

Wordlessly, Prowler handed the pad back to Sideswipe.

"Five months," Sideswipe said, smiling up at Prowler. "He'll be here."

"We should get going," Jazz said. Prowler spotted him rubbing Prowl's back, unseen by the others. "Hope said he was out with Prowler. He should be coming in soon."

Prowler looked away. He didn't say anything.

"Thanks for coming!" Sideswipe walked Prowl and Jazz out as Sunstreaker stayed on the couch. Slowly, Prowler sat down next to his parent, tucking himself into his side. Sunstreaker rested his helm against Prowler's as they sat in silence. Neither had to say anything, but Prowler took comfort in Sunstreaker's silence, in the stillness of his strength. And, balanced on Sunstreaker's lap, for both mechs to watch, was the scan of their family's new sparkling.

* * *

><p>It was just over an hour later when the comm call came in.<p>

"Prowler?" It was Prowl, looking tired and irritated and just through with it all. "Where's Hope?"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker turned questioning glances toward him. Prowler sighed. "I don't know where he went. We met up just before sunset to talk. I left. I went on a drive on the inner perimeter. Hope stayed behind."

In the background, Prowler heard Jazz cursing, then a murmured 'I'll go find his aft.' Over the comm, Prowl sighed heavily. "Thanks, Prowler. He said he was going out with you. He didn't say anything about what he was doing afterward." Prowl cut the comm, and Prowler knew, he just knew, Hope was going to get it.

* * *

><p>There wasn't a better place to see the stars than from the top of the <em>Ark<em>, right in the middle of the courts, when there wasn't a game on. When slingball was being played, the roof of the _Ark_ was lit up with blazing beacons and telescoping lights, and even the crackles from the safety nets obscured the sights. But, when the roof was dark, pitch black, the night sky stretched for miles, encasing the _Ark_ in every direction. Even planets could be spotted, distant ones in distant systems the humans didn't know about yet.

Hope burrowed closer to Fawn, wrapping one of his legs over Fawn's. "Tell me more about what you're working on."

"Moonbase 1?" Fawn stroked Hope's back, dragging his fingers over Hope's doorwings. Hope was melting, alternating between surging with charge and relaxing to the brink of offlining. "We've got the entire blueprint design confirmed for phases one through three of Moonbase 1. The survey team is up there now, charting out the coordinates. If all goes to plan, in six months we'll be almost through with the foundations. In a year, a skeleton crew will begin to man the station." Fawn's fingers dipped into Hope's doorwing hinges.

Hope moaned.

"Do you like that?" Fawn whispered. He dragged his fingers down, dipping and swirling them into Hope's hinges again.

Hope bucked against Fawn, dragging his hips against Fawn's thigh. He nodded, breathless. Fawn chuckled, then pulled, dragging Hope into his lap until Hope was straddling him. Fawn's fingers stroked down Hope's sides, then drifted over his abdomen before, slowly, skirting up his chestplate. Hope shivered, trembling at the touches, and when Fawn's hands cupped his helm and tugged, Hope sank willingly down, meeting Fawn for a breathless kiss.

Lips pressed together, glossa tangling, and then hands were everywhere. Stroking, petting, flicking, Fawn and Hope bucked and ground together, gripping each other hard. They gasped into each other's mouths, then kissed again, sucking lips and glossa and then nuzzling necks.

Suddenly, Hope's interface panel clicked open, and his spike rose, pressurized and hard. His valve was burning, quivering and wet, and entirely untouched.

Both mechs froze. Panting, Hope stared into Fawn's optics. He bit his lip, trying to control his surging energy.

Fawn's interface panel clicked open, and his spike rose alongside Hope's, charged and hard and eager. His valve was exposed, too, and just as untouched.

Hope gasped, his optics blazing. He couldn't help the buck of his hips, and his spike slid alongside Fawn's, stroking together. Fawn groaned, his arms wrapping around Hope, and the two bucked together, pumping their hips and sliding their spikes against one another, faster and harder.

"Just spikes, okay?" Hope whispered.

Fawn grunted, nodding, and bucked up hard, slamming his spike against Hope's. Hope gasped and buried his helm in Fawn's neck, riding Fawn's hard thrusts. He could feel his valve clenching, could feel the lubricant dripping from between his legs. It wouldn't be that bad if they interfaced, would it? His valve quivered, aching, and Hope tried to scoot up. If Fawn just accidentally slid in, that would be alright, right?

Lights burst on, flooding the rooftop with a suddenly-blazing glow. Hope screamed, leaping off of Fawn, and covered his burning optics. Fawn shouted as well, rolling over, and rubbed at his optics as the input reset his systems and forced an optical shut down.

From across the deck, near the lift, an engine roared. Tires squealed, peeling out, and in half a second, a transformation sounded next to Fawn and Hope. Hope didn't look, wouldn't look. He knew those sounds anywhere.

"Jazz to Mirage." Fawn groaned, listening to Jazz's comm call. "I'm bringing Fawn home."

* * *

><p>Fawn and Hope marched down the corridor in front of Jazz. In rebellion, they were holding hands, and neither saw Jazz roll his optics at their display. The two mechlets didn't say anything, but they kept glancing at each other, nervous and timid.<p>

As they group turned down the corridor leading to Fawn's quarters, Fawn gripped down on Hope's hand, hard. Mirage was waiting outside, leaning up against the bulkhead, face purposely blank.

"Hound is waiting for you inside," Mirage said simply. He nodded to Jazz.

Fawn swallowed, gripped Hope's hand, and dutifully followed Mirage into his quarters.

Hope didn't look at Jazz. He stayed silent, staring at the decking.

Sighing, Jazz gently pushed at Hope's shoulder. "Get going," he said. "Prowl's waiting for us."

Hope exhaled, but one foot fell in front of the other and he trudged home in front of Jazz. When they arrived, Hope faltered outside the door, staring up at the entrance with a dread he hadn't felt in a while.

Impatient, Jazz slapped at the door pad and pushed Hope inside.

Prowl's helm snapped up as they walked in. He was sitting on the couch, helm in his hands, optics white, doorwings taut and high.

Hope felt his spark sink, his tanks churn. He swallowed and looked away.

"Do you have any idea how worried we were about you?" Prowl said softly. "We didn't know where you were."

"I said I was Prowler-"

"Which was a lie," Jazz snapped.

"And Prowler came home," Prowl finished. "And you didn't."

Silence.

"And when Jazz found you…" Prowl trailed off into a long sigh. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Falling in love is not dangerous!" Hope could feel the fire starting deep inside, and he knew he was ready for this fight. He could feel himself gearing up for it, standing his ground.

Behind Hope, Jazz snorted and crossed his arms. Hope turned and glared at Jazz. Jazz raised his optics ridges, incredulous.

"Hope…" Prowl shook his helm. "I'm not going to argue with you about what you feel for Fawn. This is … rather sudden. We didn't know you two were hanging out."

"Do I have to tell you everything I do?" Hope snapped.

"It's helpful to know what is going on in your life, yes," Prowl corrected. "So that things like this don't blindside us."

Silence. Hope fidgeted, some of the fight bleeding out of him. "We've been friends for years," he muttered. "But we've been … dating for about six weeks."

Again, Jazz snorted. "It's way too soon for any kind of interfacing!" He snapped. "Prowl and I waited months!"

Prowl shot Jazz a flat glare as Hope shuddered. "Jazz," Prowl gently censured. He turned his attention back to Hope. "Come here, please." He patted the couch next to him.

Slowly, Hope moved to join Prowl. He sat down next to his parent, deflating, all of his anger leaving. Sadness, disappointment, and failure stole into its place. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "It happened so fast."

"That's typically how it happens," Prowl said with a smile. "Emotions get the best of you, and then…" Prowl looked up, meeting Jazz's gaze. Jazz swallowed and looked down.

"We're not going to argue with you about what you feel and for who," Prowl repeated. "But we do want you to think long and hard about your choices." He paused. "And that includes lying to us."

"You're grounded for that, by the way," Jazz piped up.

Hope exhaled, but nodded.

"And…" Prowl inhaled deeply. "I think it's time for you to get a ground from Ratchet."

Jazz turned away, gritting his denta as he walked across the room. He leaned hard against the table, then punched the surface. Hope jumped at the sound. His optics blazed, wide and bright, and his lips thinned to a straight line, hard and flat. "What?" he finally choked out.

Prowl shook his helm. "You're sixteen, Hope. Almost seventeen. You're dating a mech, you have a lot of freedom, and you have choices to make. Part of growing up is figuring out how you feel about interfacing and what you want for yourself." Prowl nodded toward Jazz. "We've done our best to teach you that you are the most valuable mech in your entire world, and these choices are yours and yours alone. And that when you decide to interface, it should be special and meaningful for you and for your partner." Hope squirmed in his seat, massively uncomfortable. "But one thing I am not willing to chance is an accidental sparking." Prowl exhaled sadly, and there was a dark light in his optics, a sheen that Hope hadn't seen before. "You have a long, full life ahead of you. You should choose when you want a sparkling, not have to figure out the consequences of an unplanned surprise."

Across the room, Jazz huffed, his engine roaring. He paced again, heavy footfalls striking the decking hard, and his hands clenched and unclenched into fists as he paced.

Hope swallowed, his optics wide. He nodded. "Okay," he whispered. He nodded again, then reached out and gripped Prowl's hand. He squeezed hard, taking Prowl's hand in both of his. "You did teach me well," Hope whispered. "I'm… glad Jazz interrupted."

Smiling sadly, Prowl kissed Hope's helm. "We'll comm Ratchet in the morning, okay?"

* * *

><p>Ratchet ended up enacting a full medical protocol, demanding that all mechlets over age fourteen report to the medbay for ground installation. At first, mechs protested – fourteen! – but Ratchet wouldn't budge. All mechs, age fourteen and above, and all mechs turning fourteen were to report for ground installation.<p>

First Aid was booted from the surgical suite when Hope reported in, much to Hope's eternal gratitude. Ratchet had taken care of Hope for his whole life, had poked and prodded and helped when he was sick, taken readings and samples from more places than Hope knew he had. First Aid had entered Hope's life more recently as a mentor, and not as a medic. He wasn't sure he was ready for his mentor to be elbows-deep in his valve.

Fawn and Hope were kept separated from each other for a week through creative scheduling in classes on Wheeljack's part, busy apprenticeship duties, and the mutual grounding both mechlets were in. Still, the two mechlets threw each other lingering, longing looks across the classroom.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

><p>On the moon, Optimus Prime watched proudly as the survey team – Hoist, Grapple, Hot Spot, Blades, Trailbreaker, and Ironhide – finished their massive layout and survey. Prime gathered the mechs around him and, together, they laid the cornerstone in their new headquarters, Moonbase 1.<p>

"In one year, this base will be manned." Prime smiled at his team. "It will be the first step in our journey to a new home. A world of our very own."


	3. Chapter 3

**Unforeseen Three**

**Five Months Later**

* * *

><p>"For the first ten years, Moonbase 1 will rely on resource sharing from Earth." Fawn, with Skyfire, addressed the Command Deck briefing. Though Fawn was slightly taller than Mirage was, he, like most other mechlets, still hadn't filled out the bulk of their frame. Next to Skyfire, Fawn looked tiny. Fawn had chosen to match Mirage in paint scheme, and he sported clean white lines on a blue base on top of his brand new, upgraded alt mode – a Range Rover.<p>

"Nuclear fusion reactor usage has risen more than 700% on Earth," Skyfire said. "This increase was in large part due to our restructured alliance two decades ago. Our technology is capable of repurposing the nuclear waste products, especially the spent fuel rods, and turning that waste into viable fuel. Thus far, I, Sky Lynx, and Cosmos have been doing the bulk of this transformation in high earth orbit."

"But, with the opening of Moonbase 1, we will have a stable location from which to repurpose the nuclear waste into the usable energon and other fuel materials that we will require." Fawn gestured to the Teletraan terminal. "Usable energon will be sent back down to Earth to power the _Ark_ while the rest will remain on the Moon."

"According to calculations, for the estimated crew load expected to run Moonbase 1 during phase one, approximately 25% of the repurposed energy allocated to Moonbase 1 will be used for mech consumption." Prowler – sporting his own new alt mode, an upgraded Lambo model similar to his parents - tapped at the controls, pulling up a new set of diagrams and grids on the terminal screen. "65% will be allocated to construction consumption." Prowler highlighted an inlaid screen, detailing the Moonbase expansion plans, the add-ons in phases 2 and 3 for the humans, and the expected growth in total mech and human population at the Moonbase. "15% will be allocated to exploratory consumption." Another inlay screen, this time showing a cross-section of the galactic quadrant, complete with neighboring systems, marker buoys for trade routes, non-aligned space stations, and Imperium borders.

Prime nodded to each mechlet, smiling. "Well done," he said, proud of their presentations. "This is excellent data."

Sideswipe beamed at Prowler, unseen from behind Prime's back, and gave him a thumbs up. Prowler pretended not to notice and busied himself with his pad. Skyfire chuckled.

"I propose we start making inroads on those exploratory missions sooner rather than later." Jazz, slouched back against the Teletraan terminal, called up another screen without even looking at what he was typing. "Prime, my department would like to begin missions as soon as possible," Jazz said. "We need to know what's out there. It's been a while since we've been out in the galactic neighborhood. We need to know what we're up against."

"Agreed," Prime rumbled. "We're at a place now where resources, equipment, and time all allow us to reach out and investigate. This has been a rarity in our history."

Wheeljack's shuttles, built – and then rebuilt – seventeen years ago were but two in the now-expansive Autobots' space fleet. Twenty shuttles had been built for interstellar flight, some for close-range missions within the solar system and the rest for longer missions with a greater range. All the way to the non-aligned spaces, and beyond.

"We've been on Earth for so long," Jazz mused. He glanced around the briefing and the assortment of mechs and mechlets. "Anyone want to take bets on what we'll find?"

Prowler and Fawn were hanging on every one of Jazz's words. Prowler's optics glittered, wonder and fascination radiating from his frame at the thought of interstellar negotiations and relations. Fawn was more expressive, actually bouncing on the balls of his feet. For the two mechlets, Earth had always been home and outer space had been a place of textbooks and stories, and of astrometrics exams.

Skyfire was more blasé. "Nothing ever changes out there," he dismissed with a wave. "The Imperium keeps control of that."

Murmurs and nods followed. Prowl spoke first. "However, Megatron blasted off seventeen years ago, without a word heard from him since. We've had no contact with any species after neutralizing the Viter threat shortly after Megatron's excursion." Consensus had been that the Viter mercenaries had been paid to attack Earth, capitalizing on what the Decepticons must have thought was the Autobot's devastating defeat in the nuclear collapse of the humans' satellite field.

"You really think Megatron would have changed interstellar politics?" Trailbreaker, tilting his helm and frowning.

"I never discount Megatron," Prime rumbled. Prowl and Sideswipe nodded as Skyfire remained silent.

Prowler and Fawn shared an excited look. Primus, this was exactly what they had wanted for so long. Really being involved in the actual operations of the Autobots. Fawn had chosen to apprentice with Skyfire in the technical engineering and sciences lab. He had worked with Skyfire on the final coordination of plans for Moonbase 1 and had been a member of the project team on Earth supporting the survey team on the moon. Fawn had no doubt that this was what he wanted and he had been deliriously excited about his apprenticeship.

Prowler, working in Operations, joined Prowl, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Trailbreaker on the Command Deck. Trailbreaker and Sideswipe worked mostly on the Human-Autobot alliance and on projects associated with maintaining and strengthening that alliance. Energy and resource sharing, technology transfer schedules, shared responsibilities for reconstruction of the space program, and expansion assignments for interstellar and deep sea exploration all fell under their purview. Hound worked on their team as well, as did Smokescreen and Bluestreak. Prowl, Sunstreaker, and now Prowler all managed the interstellar operations section, including managing the Moonbase project and all of its phases and strategic operations for Project: Exodus & Resettlement – the searching, scouting, identification, terraforming, and colonization of a home of their very own. Within that project, a million sub-projects had to be completed, from exploratory missions to resource acquisition to Moonbase construction to space station construction to upgraded engineering protocols and systems to human training, in conjunction with Sideswipe and Trailbreaker.

All in all, it was a massive amount of work, and Prowl was glad to have Prowler joining the ranks.

Jazz had remained in charge of Special Operations and was closely aligned with Prowl's section in interstellar operations. He'd spent most of the past fifteen years working with United Earth Space Federation on rebuilding the humans' satellite network – communications, defense, and reconnaissance. Reconnaissance wasn't so much focused on Earth any more – though insurgent groups still rebelled against the Autobots' presence and sought to destroy both them and the alliance – but was more focused on interstellar recon and galactic security. Watchtower beacons had been set up in the outer reaches of the solar system, but so far, they had only registered incoming comets and scattered ice dust.

Mirage stayed with Jazz in SpecOps, though Bumblebee resigned. Instead, Bumblebee became the ambassador to the humans from the Autobots, joining the delegation of the United Nations in New York City.

"I'd like to launch a mission within the week, Prime," Jazz said. "We're planning on launching full resources missions within a few years. Let me get started on gathering intel on what's what out there. We can hit the ground running if we know the major players and know who not to piss off."

"Any objections?" Prime surveyed his command team. No one spoke. "Sounds good, Jazz. Who are you thinking for your crew?"

"Well, Mirage is out," Jazz said with a grin. Mirage was five months sparked, one month behind Sunstreaker, and expecting his and Hound's third. "I want to keep this small. Unobtrusive. Just a lil' look-see." Jazz chewed on his lip, humming. His optics tracked over the mechs on the deck. Prowl caught his optic. He nodded, barely, too subtle for anyone to notice but Jazz. "Actually, I'd like to take Prowler."

Prowler's optics blazed as all helms turned toward him. He tried to speak, tried to ask what Jazz could have possibly meant, but all that came out was a squawk of static.

"Prowler is still a mechlet, Jazz," Sideswipe called sharply. Sunstreaker wasn't in the meeting, instead crunching data in astrometrics, but Sideswipe could fee Sunstreaker's sudden concern across their bond.

"Prowler has performed exemplarily," Prowl said. "Jazz won't be making any contact with anyone out there." The last was directed at Jazz, more of an order than anything else.

Jazz nodded, smiling at Prowl.

"Prowler has been an incredible addition to the Command Staff," Prime said, cutting Sideswipe's next protest off. "As have all the mechlets who have joined the ranks." He nodded to Fawn, smiling. "I believe that Prowler is more than equipped to support Jazz in an observational mission." Prime eyed Jazz. "However, if the scope of the mission changes, you are to return to the _Ark_ for appropriate backup."

Jazz nodded again. "No problem-o." He turned to Prowler, raising his optic ridges. "The final call is yours, Prowler. Wanna go?"

This time, Prowler found his vocalizer. "Slag yeah!" He ducked his head as the rest of the mechs laughed at his exuberant slip. Still, Prowler was smiling, almost beaming. Fawn slapped him on the back, cheering, but Sideswipe stared at Prowler with wide optics, midnight dark and lined with worry.

* * *

><p>It was Open Mic night again, and though the oldest mechlets were either all seventeen or almost there, they still weren't allowed to attend. Something about Mirage and Blaster performing a new duet together. Instead, Hope had the whole group over – Fawn, Prowler, Roader, Piston, Beats, and Spectrum. They were lounging in Jazz and Prowl's quarters, slouched over the couch and flopped in the arm chairs. Fawn and Hope were wrapped up in each other's arms, Fawn lying on the couch with Hope lying In front of him, wrapped up in his arms and with Hope's doorwings wrapped around either side of Fawn. Fawn occasionally would nibble at the back of Hope's neck, and all of Hope's body would tremble and quiver. The first few times, the other mechs had laughed. Now they ignored them or rolled their optics.<p>

Prowler sat on the floor, one leg propped up and resting his chin on his knee. He still hadn't lost the smile he'd picked up on the Command Deck. His optics were burning bright, imagining far-flung space stations and alien species.

"I cannot believe you get to go with Jazz on a deep space mission!" Hope was nearly beside himself with excitement. "Guess all those stupid calculations on deep space travel velocities paid off." Despite his teasing, he was grinning.

Roader, who had followed Fawn into Engineering/Sciences, and Piston, who had gone into Engineering/Fabrication, grinned together. "Wheeljack used to tell us stories about deep space," Piston said, leering. "Space monsters and pirates and ghost ships!"

"Oh my," Fawn purred, playing along. He nuzzled Hope's neck. Hope whimpered.

"You guys are disgusting," Spectrum piped up. He rolled his optics at the two on the couch, then reached up from the floor and shoved at Fawn's leg. Gone were the days of Spectrum idolizing his older brother.

"You're disgusting, frag face," Fawn snapped back. He kicked at Spectrum's helm, knocking his brother down.

Roader ignored Fawn, Hope, and Spectrum. "Seriously, what do you think you'll see out there?" He leaned forward, optics glittering.

Prowler shook his helm. "Jazz is supposed to be working on the flight plan tomorrow. He'll brief me after Prime approves it. But we're just supposed to be observing."

"You can 'observe' and still land on a space station." Piston shrugged. "Just saying."

"Or another planet." Spectrum grinned wide. He was planning his own apprenticeship and he was taking after Hound in every way. Natural sciences for him, planetary exploration. The first planet to explore – Earth. Spectrum was planning on working on the tundra research projects, expanding human projects for energy, conservation, and repair into previously inhospitable areas.

"That would be amazing," Roader breathed. He was nearly as excited as Prowler.

"Isn't Sunny due soon?" Fawn peeked over Hope's neck, resting his chin on Hope's helm. "You'll be gone for how long, a week or more? Won't you miss your brother's emergence?"

Nodding, Prowler pursed his lips. "Yeah, that's what Sideswipe was upset about. He wants us all to be there for him."

"I can understand that." Fawn kicked at Spectrum again, knocking him in the helm. Scowling, Spectrum pummeled back, punching Fawn in the calf.

"Hey!" Hope protested, kicking out with his feet. Spectrum was finally knocked back with a hard kick from Fawn.

"I finally get a new brother," Fawn said, glaring at Spectrum. "A retry after this failed model."

"Frag face," Spectrum snapped.

Fawn ignored Spectrum. "I can't wait to see him arrive."

Piston leaned back, spreading his arms wide along the couch. "Well, if you aftheads need any help in the older brother department, you know where to go." He grinned, lopsided, and shucked a thumb at Roader. "I think we got brother wrangling down after six of 'em."

"Didn't Gidget get lost in the ventilation system while you were supposed to be watching him, Pist'?" Hope craned his neck, smirking at Piston.

"That was not my fault!" Piston proclaimed his innocence as the rest of the mechs booed, calling Piston out for paying too little attention to Gidget during any of his sparkling sitting sessions. Roader kept quiet, smiling through the whole argument, and shook his helm.

Eventually, Roader slid down to sit next to Prowler. "This is by far the coolest thing any one of us have ever done," he said, bumping shoulders with Prowler. "Bring us back something alien?"

Prowler grinned and nodded. "Sure."

By the time Jazz and Prowl got back, the mechlets had turned on a movie and were lounging in an even larger sprawl. Spectrum, Beats, and Piston both were lying flat on their backs, helms barely propped up against the base of the couch. Roader had taken over a chair, Fawn and Hope were still intertwined on the couch, and Prowler sat off to the side, curled around himself with his helm still on his knee. When Jazz and Prowl entered, Prowler pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the parents as they settled down at the table.

Prowler caught Jazz's gaze fixing onto Hope and Fawn. Jazz said nothing, but he shared a long look with Prowl. Prowler grinned.

"What's up, Prowler?" Jazz patted the table, inviting Prowler to sit. "What are you guys watching?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Prowler shrugged. "I don't even know," he grunted, chuckling. "I wasn't paying attention."

Jazz smiled, titling his helm. "Excited?"

Prowler nodded. He couldn't hold back his grin. "Thanks for inviting me."

"You earned this, my mech," Jazz said. He leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two feet as he crossed his hands behind his helm. "You are a rock star. Sideswipe darn near chewed my plating off, but I think it's important for you to come with."

"You'll miss your brother's emergence, most likely." Prowl had one optic on the group of mechlets on the couch and one optic on Prowler. "Are you okay with that?"

Prowler nodded. "We'll have the rest of our lives together, right?"

From the couch, Spectrum's indignant shout rose over the group. "You stepped on me, you frag-face glitch!"

"Get out of the way of my foot!" Fawn snapped back.

Prowl smiled at Prowler as Jazz rose to investigate. "Ah, brothers."

* * *

><p>Deep space was nothing and everything that Prowler expected.<p>

The trip was long, longer than he even expected. Even getting to the outer marker of the solar system seemed to take forever. Jazz was in command of the shuttle and the pilot, and there wasn't much for Prowler to do except relay communications. After the first hour, and the end of the mandatory checks and safety inspection, Prowler flat ran out of things to do. He watched Jazz as he piloted the shuttle, watching as Jazz kept it on manual for far longer than the mission specs recommended. They circled Jupiter and wove around the moons, scanning the humans' data satellites at Europa before moving on to Saturn. Jazz dove into the rings, scattering ice shards and dust across their plating. He swung underneath Neptune, sweeping over the planet almost upside down. The trip out to Pluto was long, and they breezed by the ball of rocks and ice with barely a wave. Finally, Jazz plotted a course through the Kuiper Belt and out through the Ort Cloud. Prowler watched, transfixed, for the first few hours. Then he fidgeted. Then he fell offline.

First up on Jazz's flight plan to deep space was a bland, empty piece of space, void of any systems, off the regular trading routes. He pulled the shuttle to a stop and powered down.

Prowler looked all around, trying to figure out what they were doing there and why. There was nothing – literally nothing – in the area.

"Pull up the external sensors and patch the comms antennae to the receiver," Jazz said, pushing out of the pilot's seat. He starched, rolling his shoulders. "I can help you if you need."

Frowning, Prowler called up the two systems. He'd never heard of that kind of systems connection before, ever. Comms and sensors were separate entities and he didn't even think they would link up. Still, he did as he was told.

As the two systems boot screens pulled up side by side, Prowler spotted one area where a bridge could be built, an uplink with a path for a translation language. Tilting his helm, Prowler spun in his chair and turned to Jazz.

Jazz was smiling at him.

"This was a test," Prowler said simply.

"Yes it was."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" Jazz leaned against the center console. "Why are we out here in the middle of nowhere, off the maps of any trade routes?"

Prowler frowned, holding Jazz's gaze. He turned over thoughts and possibilities and then quickly discarded them. They weren't lost and Jazz was looking far too confident for their maps to be wrong. He glanced back to the systems and to what Jazz had asked him to do. "You're trying to spy on the quadrant," he said. "Trying to boost the range of the comms array with the sensors."

Jazz nodded. "Bingo." He nodded to the terminal. "Show me how you'll bridge the systems. I want passive listening only. No transmissions."

Turning back, Prowler started worked at the controls, typing the commands that would manipulate the two systems together. He wrote the script language that would bridge each together, then modified the comms for reception only. Finally, he linked the sensors via the bridge and completed the code. "Done," he said, spinning back around.

"Only 2 and a half minutes," Jazz grinned. "Well done."

"I didn't know I was being timed!" Prowler was slightly indignant. "I could have gone faster."

"I have no doubt." Jazz leaned over Prowler's terminal and rebooted the sensors, activating the new comms spy system. "Let's listen in, shall we?"

Next, Prowler learned how to decrypt communications, building a quantum cipher and a rotating decryption algorithm to run in conjunction with the incoming comms feed. What had been squawks and warbles turned into a cornucopia of transmissions, different languages speaking on top of one another, clicks and flutters and guttural snarls mixed with lilting sing-song transmissions and what almost sounded like music. Electric warnings sounded, telling ships to keep their distance, while mayday calls bounced among idle chit chat about space eddies and what was on the menu at Station 12. Languages and conversations faded in and out, turning the quiet cabin into a booming conversation hall.

Jazz grinned at Prowler. "And now, we sort through this."

"Can we sort by language type?" Prowler asked, his audials picking out different structures and formations of language. "Does Teletraan have reference languages for translation?"

Jazz nodded to Prowler's terminal. The look in his optics told Prowler to check for himself.

Prowler snorted and spun around, again. His fingers flew across the terminal, searching in the databanks. He was finding subsystems he'd never seen before, protocols he'd never encountered. Prowler cast a look over his shoulder at Jazz. Jazz was whistling, leaning back on the center console, and had one heel propped up on the other. Nonchalant he may appear, but this was anything but.

This was Special Operations.

Prowler tried to keep the smile smothered, but it poked through around the edges of his lips. He glanced over his shoulder again, and this time, he caught Jazz grinning back at him.

Teletraan beeped, catching Prowler's attention. "There are 43 reference languages in the database," he said. "And another 86 that aren't translated. Teletraan estimates it will take 14 hours to reference the unknown languages enough to be able to provide a real time translation."

Jazz nodded. "Time to get some rest, then, and let Teletraan get to work." He pushed off the center console and motion for the lower decks. "Have you ever played Roots?"

Prowler frowned at Jazz. "I thought that was gambling." He watched Jazz grin. "I thought we weren't allowed to play that."

"Well, I won't tell if you won't"

Four hours in, Jazz forbade Prowler from ever playing Roots again. He was as bad as Prowl, which was to say, he absolutely annihilated Jazz. "Primus, I have to bring you to Smokescreen's table sometime," Jazz groaned, rubbing his optics under his visor. "They won't know what hit 'em!"

Prowler smirked, calculating up his winnings. If they had truly been gambling, Jazz would have owed him the equivalent of the Earth's gross domestic product. "I like this game," he said.

"Yeah, I bet you do." Jazz yawned and stretched, rolling his neck. "Let's get some recharge. Big day tomorrow." He winked at Prowler.

"Bigger than today? Running protocols I've never seen, creating script I didn't know existed, deciphering languages that no mech has ever heard?"

"Yep." Jazz grinned. "You're doing great, Prowler."

Prowler didn't think he'd be able to recharge at all that night, but he was off as soon as he hit the berth. Visions of aliens danced through his processor, all set to the soundtrack of languages that had invaded the shuttle earlier. He was transfixed, imagining each species more outlandish than the last.

When Jazz finally shook him awake, after recharging straight through his alarm, Prowler sat up so fast he banged his helm on the bunk above. He cursed as Jazz laughed and followed Jazz back up to the flight deck.

Two cubes of energon were on the central terminal. Jazz passed him one. "Better get used to cubes," Jazz said. "It seems like sludge after how we've been fueling for years, but cubes are what we're going to be running on for the first few years up at Moonbase 1."

Prowler, in the middle of a gulping swallow of energon, choked as he sputtered and nearly sprayed Jazz with liquid energon. "Moonbase 1?" he repeated. "You're telling me to get ready?"

Jazz ignored Prowler's question – and the near choking – by turning his attention to the Teletraan decryption. "Looks like we're in business," he said. "All languages referenced. Ready for a listen?"

Prowler nodded, but gave Jazz a long look. With another grin, Jazz toggled on the speakers for the shuttle. Transmissions from across the quadrant poured in, this time all understandable. Prowler focused, turning his audials to each feed, trying to catch as many words as he could in the scream of noise.

"Wait!" Prowler tilted his helm, his optics blazing. "Go back." He pulled up the transmission record on the main terminal. "Isolate this string." A long-range transmission, far across the quadrant. "Play that back."

"Attention: this is a warrant for the immediate capture and destruction of the mechanical lifeforms known at the Cybertronians. Cybertronians identifying themselves as the 'Decepticons' have attacked _Raj al'Kathouir_. The seal to the _ghanvar_ is broken. I repeat, the _ghanvar_ seal is broken. Protect yourselves, and may _Jus'dalnav_ have mercy on us all."

The message repeated, looping on automatic as Jazz traced the source. The system finally appeared, far-flung and way off the grid. It would be hard to get to, even if someone wanted to get there. Prowler shared a confused look with Jazz. "What was all that about?"

"'Cons have gone and pissed someone off," Jazz sighed. "No surprise there."

"But a death warrant for everyone?"

"Not the first time." Jazz crossed his arms. "There's a reason we're taking this reentry into the galactic neighborhood nice and slow."

Prowler sighed. "So Megatron's action will condemn us all?"

Jazz didn't speak for a long moment. His gaze faded, peering into the long distance as his optics dimmed. "They always have, Prowler," Jazz finally said. "They always have."

* * *

><p>While Jazz was away, Prowl made a determined effort to spend more time with Hope and Fawn. He invited Fawn over for dinner with him and Hope and suffered through the two of them giggling at each other and Hope's wide-optic'd infatuation. He invited Hope and Fawn to slingball and watched them hold hands and kiss on the sidelines. He'd nearly sprained a doorwing at that, and had definitely given up points in the game, but who could blame him?<p>

Mirage and Hound were no help at all. Mirage was focused on his impending delivery, and Hound was happy for Fawn. He'd given Fawn the 'birds and the bees' talk, as he'd described it, after Fawn and Hope's incident on the _Ark_ roof. They were welcoming to Hope, inviting him over for dinners as well, and inviting him along on family excursions off-_Ark_.

Prowl silently grumbled about it, but the truth of the matter was, Hope appeared happy. He was excelling in his apprenticeship, he was finally respectful to Prowl and Jazz, and he wasn't talking back nearly as much.

Still, did that behavior have to come about because Fawn was suddenly cuddling Hope on their couch?

Prowl offered to let the mechlets watch a movie at their place while he worked. He set up at the table as the movie started, and though he knew they would be arms and legs entangled within a few minutes, Prowl grew ever more suspicious of the incredible silence coming from the couch. He forced himself to leave them be, but finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. He moved to investigate, creeping quietly, and peered over the couch.

They were locked in a deep embrace, kissing slowly, arms wound around each other's helms. Prowl spotted glossa and the undulating of frame against one another. Before he backed away, Prowl checked for interface covers – closed, thank Primus – and then he was gone, back at the table and slouched in his seat. Prowl shook his helm and grabbed his data pad.

Like it or not, Hope was growing up.

* * *

><p>"This is a nice change from the last time, hmm?" Ratchet smirked at Sunstreaker on the medberth. Sunstreaker was blitzed, riding high on a wave of pain meds, and couldn't feel anything below his chestplates. Ratchet checked the drip as he leaned against the medberth.<p>

Sunstreaker rolled his helm toward Ratchet and smiled. It was bleary, and his optics shone way too brightly, but – as Ratchet knew – not feeling pain was infinitely more important than dignity during sparkling emergence. "You're the best, Ratch'," Sunstreaker said. He only slurred slightly.

"You're about halfway through electrifying your tank." Ratch tapped the portable monitor resting on Sunstreaker's abdomen. "You've got a few hours to go until you'll be ready to start pushing. Try and get some rest. Sideswipe will wake you up when he gets here."

Nodding, Sunstreaker rolled his helm away and dimed his optics. "Wish Prowler were here," he mumbled just before slipping offline.

Sideswipe arrived at the mid-shift, about an hour before Sunstreaker's tank was full charged. Sunstreaker was still in recharge and Sideswipe sat by his side and watched his brother. The medbay was quiet. Ratchet was in his office, First Aid and Hope were prepping the sparkling reception kit, and for the moment, it was just Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

He let the memories play out in his helm, remembering almost eighteen years ago and Prowler's emergence. The anticipation, the wonder and terror that warred within him, not knowing what was going to happen when Prowler arrived. The frantic panic when he got the call that Sunstreaker was having Prowler that very moment. His record-breaking tear back to the _Ark_. Holding Sunstreaker as he shuddered and trembled and bellowed and brought their sparkling to life. Bringing Prowler to Sunstreaker, taking him from his brother's body and lifting him into Sunstreaker's arms. The way their lives changed, irrevocably, from that moment forward.

Smiling, Sideswipe stroked his fingers down Sunstreaker's cheek. It had been a wild ride, and here they were, gearing up for another round.

Sunstreaker shifted under Sideswipe's touch. His optics flickered as he focused in on his brother.

"Ratchet give you the good stuff?" Sideswipe grinned.

Sunstreaker nodded. "I told him it wasn't fair that no other mech had had to deliver without pain meds," he grunted. "How much longer?"

Sideswipe checked the monitor. "Maybe a half hour until you're ready." He squeezed Sunstreaker's hand. "Different than last time, huh?"

"Quieter." Sunstreaker squeezed back. "I'm glad you're here."

"I wish Prowler were here, too." Sideswipe hadn't gotten over Jazz taking Prowler off on his deep space mission. "Two to seven weeks is a huge range."

"Eventually he's going to be gone for good," Sunstreaker grunted. He quirked his optic ridges at Sideswipe. "Is your sensor range going to extend that far?"

Sideswipe smacked Sunstreaker on the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, call me over-protective," he grumbled. "You're one to talk."

Sunstreaker smiled at Sideswipe. It wasn't one of his grumbling smiles, or his feral smirks, but a real smile, soft and gentle. Sideswipe squeezed his hand, smiling back. That smile never failed to melt his spark entirely. He was the only one who ever got to see that side of Sunstreaker.

"You two being romantic?" Ratchet chose that moment to interrupt them. He strode to Sunstreaker's side, smiling at the twins. "That's what got you two into this mess, you know."

"Do tell us all about how sparklings are created," Sideswipe teased back. "You should know, what with all fifteen of your own."

"Eight." Ratchet shook his helm, laughing. "Don't jinx us." He shifted the monitor on Sunstreaker's abdomen, dropping it lower, and nodded at the readouts. "Alright, Sunny. Are you ready for your next sparkling?"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a long look, a deep warmth and love passing between them. Sideswipe hopped up on the medberth behind Sunstreaker and helped his brother up until he was sitting, leaning back in Sideswipe's arms. Their fingers laced together as Sideswipe wrapped his arms around his brother, Sunstreaker crossing his arms with Sideswipe.

Ratchet called First Aid and Hope over, setting them up with their sparkling reception miniberth on the next berth over for Sunstreaker's privacy. Hope was insanely curious. He'd never seen a sparkling emergence before, but watching the parent of his best friend deliver wasn't the first time experience he was looking for. Or what Sunstreaker was looking for. Ratchet had been Sunstreaker's medic exclusively for the entire time Sunstreaker had been with the Autobots. That wasn't changing anytime soon. Both First Aid and Hope were relegated to sparkling duties. Still, Hope waited expectantly. He caught Sideswipe's optics and smiled.

"All right, Sunstreaker," Ratchet said, kneeling into position. "With the sedatives, you're pushes are going to feel different. Bear down when I direct you and lay off when I tell you to stop. It will feel different than last time. More like pressure than anything else. Got it?"

Sunstreaker nodded. He leaned back into Sideswipe.

"Alright, then… push now." Ratchet kept one optic on the monitors and one on Sunstreaker, massaging at the yellow twin to help with the sparkling's passage. "And let up." Ratchet smiled up at Sunstreaker. "Perfect. He's coming quick. The second ones are typically quicker."

Sunstreaker nodded, breathing hard. He wasn't in pain, wasn't hurting, but pushing a system out of his body did take effort.

Sideswipe kissed Sunstreaker's cheek. "How quickly do the eighth sparklings come out?" he teased.

Ratchet glared at Sideswipe. He pressed his hand against Sunstreaker's abdomen, feeling the pulses and the contractions of Sunstreaker's systems. "Push… now, Sunny." Sunstreaker bore down, gritting his denta, and Ratchet counted through the length of the energy surge. "And you can let up," Ratchet finally said. "Only one or two more pushes, Sunny. He's already out of the tank."

Sunstreaker nodded, then smirked down at Ratchet. "So, how fast is the eighth?"

"It's like a slingball pass," Ratchet quipped.

Sunstreaker laughed and nearly missed Ratchet's call to push again. Sunstreaker bore down, squeezing on Sideswipe's hand, and then there was that rush of movement, of a gigantic shift in his body, the flood of fluids, and then Ratchet was rising with their sparkling in his arms. He was still coated in lubricants, soft and grey and wrinkled in soft metal. But, his optics were flickering online, and as Ratchet swept his mouth clear of lubricants, their sparkling's engine fired up for the first time and his vocalizer onlined in a burst of static.

"Congratulations, Sunny, Sides." Ratchet passed their sparkling to the twins, then turned back to tending to Sunstreaker's systems.

Sunstreaker cradled their sparkling close, shifting him onto his chestplates. Sideswipe leaned over his shoulder, beaming and laughing and totally unable to control his happiness. Sideswipe cupped his sparkling's helm, stroked down his soft, sticky body, and tickled his tucked-up pedes. "Great job, Sunny," Sideswipe purred into his brother's audial. "You made another perfect sparkling."

Sunstreaker stroked one finger down his sparkling's helm, tracing his forehelm and nose. He smiled, holding his sparkling's gaze. He could feel his curiosity and his wonder, and watched as his sparkling's optics rolled to the side, taking in what he could see.

Hope was suddenly at their side, optics as wide as the sparkling, staring down at him with unabashed curiosity. He had a medbay blanket in his arms, soft and ready to wrap him up. Sunstreaker carefully passed his sparkling to Hope, depositing him in the center of the blanket while Hope bundled him up. "We'll get him cleaned up and take his measurements," First Aid said, speaking for the suddenly-speechless Hope.

As Hope and First Aid moved off, the sparkling panicked at losing sight of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. He let out a giant wail, arching his back and fighting against Hope's hold. Hope's optics grew, brightening with shock at the sudden shrieking.

Sunstreaker chuckled and relaxed against Sideswipe, watching First Aid take over from Hope, and the quick, efficient measurements the medic took. Hope recorded the readings, but shied away from holding the sparkling again, and Sunstreaker was suddenly thrown back, remembering Wheeljack's fumblings with Prowler all those years ago.

Ratchet finished with tending to Sunstreaker as First Aid brought the sparkling back to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The twins reclined against the medberth together, holding their sparkling. He calmed as he sensed his parents nearby, and then quieted once he was back in Sunstreaker's arms.

"So," Ratchet asked, wiping off his hands. "What's this one's name?"

Sunstreaker tickled at his sparkling's cheek. "This one is Streaker."

* * *

><p>"Our mission specifically said that we would 'observe'." Prowler arched his optic ridges at Jazz.<p>

Jazz powered up his phase pistol and subspaced it, then slapped a three spare charge cartridges to his forearm with a mag charge. "We are 'observin'," Jazz said, "Just from up close-like." He grinned at Prowler.

"Do I get one of those?" Prowler nodded to the phase pistols secured in the shuttle storage locker. "I've been to the range with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker."

"And you're a good shot," Jazz agreed. "But not this time. You need to be an expert shot to carry when you're definitely, explicitly not allowed to."

"No weapons on board the station?"

"Oh, definitely not."

The shuttle shuddered as the landing platform finished its final descent, carrying the shuttle down into the depths of Station 19. According to Jazz, Station 19 was one of the non-aligned stations that catered to merchants and traders doing legitimate business outside of the Imperium. He even kept a straight face while saying so.

Prowler, over the course of the week in deep space with Jazz, had started to pick up on what Jazz was really saying when he never said anything at all. A simple sentence got turned over and over in his processor until Prowler would fire back at Jazz, countering his word play or deciphering the riddle.

Station 19, Prowler countered Jazz, was a pit of scum and villainy, home to pirates, rogues, and runaways, and, based on the cobbled-together assortment of derelict ships and broken hulls that made up the station's body, was barely operational. It certainly didn't operate anything legitimate, and the further away it was from the Imperium, the better.

Jazz grinned. "It's been barely operational for over a thousand years." He clapped Prowler on the shoulder and gestured to the airlock. "Ready to visit your first space station?"

Prowler grinned.

There was nothing, Prowler realized, that could have prepared him for Station 19, and for the galaxy in general. Going on mission with Jazz had felt like a roller coaster flying off the tracks, a drag race with no end, and Prowler had been scrambling for some kind of normalcy and structure since they'd set off. As he stepped onto Station 19, Prowler's last grasp on protocol, on procedure and perfunctory systems, evaporated.

The landing pad they had selected was, in reality, a starboard loading dock to an ancient freighter that had to have been half the size of Earth when it had been commissioned. Broken, the freighter formed the third of seven crossyards jutting from the station's main and central shaft. The loading dock had dragged the shuttle into the freighter's hanger where harbor rats scurried across the hull, chewing off space debris and scraping clean the caked in space gunk that had collected on the hull. Black sludge fell from the plating. The harbor rats screamed, fighting each other for the choicest pieces of sludge, scraping and scratching at each other and fighting over the gunk until another ship docked. Then the horde would take off, scraping and picking at another ship for sludge and debris. Sections of the freighter's hull had collapsed over the years, and ships that had left in a hurry – offloading cargo, or missing from battle, or trailing parts from running away – had left a slew of destroyed space trash and hull fragments littered across the hangar deck.

Prowler ducked under a collapsed fuel pipe, wider than Skyfire, and followed Jazz.

The hangar docks opened directly to the cavernous main hold of the freighter and the station's crossyard. Whatever partitions or hallways had been originally in the freighter had long been demolished. The main hold of the crossyard stretched further than Prowler could see in all directions. Taller than the volcano back home, Prowler spotted _something_ flying in the black haze above his helm. Lights swung in the bleary gloom, suspended precariously from crumbling bulkheads. Things – animals or aliens, Prowler couldn't tell – hung out of protrusions jutting from the freighter's bulkheads. They stared down, watching the newcomers from the hangar with sneers, jeers, and leers. Deep laughs sounded from above, above the haze, too far for Prowler to see. Guttural curses followed and the sounds of fighting. A scream, and then a body fell from above, whooshing from the haze and smacking into the decking ahead of Prowler and Jazz.

"Watch your step," Jazz murmured.

To the right and left, the crossyard ran for miles, though Prowler couldn't see more than a few hundred yards. Aliens of all types crowded in the center, pushing back and forth as they traversed the crossyard. Tucked into the side of the crossyard and hugging the bulkheads, lean-tos and shantys collected aliens and riff raff and junk. Fires burned in scarred pits gouged into the decking as aliens crowded around the flames. In some places, the fire pits were the only source of light. In others, flickering lamps jury rigged with far too many sparking wires tried to scatter light from the freighter's ancient systems. Torn rags and shattered bits of metal – pieces of hull, fragments from destroyed ships – covered the shantys, trying to provide some semblance of privacy to the inhabitant. Debris littered the floor. Prowler couldn't take a step without brushing through trash. His foot landed in something wet and squishy. Prowler winced.

He couldn't tear his optics from the aliens. Every shape, every size, every color. Lanky aliens taller than Prime strode down the crossyard, slowly swinging their arms. They seemed oblivious to everything else, everyone else, and the smallest aliens scrambled to avoid their path. Tiny aliens, smaller than animals on Earth, bounded down the crossyard. Bipedals, quadrupeds, tri-legs, arthropods. A ten-legged purple centa-tiger growled and crawled up the bulkhead, skipping the crowding in the center of the crossyard. He crawled overheard, passing next to Prowler's helm without a glance his way. Longbeaked iridescent blue bipeds with floor-scraping wings crowded around a fire pit. What looked like wolves rose to two feet and pushed through the crowd. Pig-faced brutes faced off against a trio of chitin-covered bipedal scorpions, inky black and hissing.

Eyes followed Prowler and Jazz's every move. Eyes peered from shanty holes, from passing aliens, and from above, piercing through the haze.

And, the weapons. Oh, the weapons. There wasn't an alien who wasn't armed, armed to the max. Crossbelts and bandoliers stretched across brutish, hulking chest, filled to the brim with spare laser cartridges, energy charges, vortex grenades, and physical bullets. Hilts of weapons rose over aliens' backs, most all double or triple wielding, and definitely showing off. Prowler spotted hidden pistols and secreted knives strapped to thighs and arms. More than a few aliens hefted swords in scabbards, blades made of both hard metal and crackling energy.

Prowler leaned close to Jazz. "I should have brought a pistol."

"Don't think that would have made any difference," Jazz said. He turned to Prowler and there was a grin in his optics. "Things looks a bit different from the last time I was here."

Prowler arched one optic ridge toward Jazz. Chuckling, Jazz took off, heading toward the center of the crossyard and moving toward the station center. Prowler followed, though his optics roamed over everything, trying to take it all in.

"Your poker face is good," Jazz said, pressing close to Prowler, "but your optics give you away."

"You want me to pretend like I've seen all this before?"

"Follow my lead." Jazz winked at Prowler and sauntered on, utterly ignoring the birdlike aliens slaughtering one of the blue-skinned pig aliens as a tiger-spider prepared a spit out of a fire pit. Prowler didn't know if he was witnessing a murder or a scavenge, but he passed by the group and utterly ignored the green blood dripping from the bird-aliens' mouths. Drips fell from their lips, sliding down chins, pooling in the decking. He utterly ignored it. He didn't look back. He didn't.

Jazz didn't either. Prowler watched him not-look over his shoulder.

The center of Station 19 was a jumble of ships and freighters crunched and collapsed together into a giant vertical channel. Spiraling ramps circled the channel, stretching up and down into the murky haze and the putrid stench. Each of the ships that was now a part of the station had been gutted, and the former ships broken interiors now hummed with activity. Prowler peered across the cavernous channel, trying to peek into the dimly lit interior of what looked like an old law enforcement shuttle. Pulsing beacons lit undulating bodies, more arms and legs than Prowler had ever seen. Mouths pressed against body parts, birds and tigers and pigs and wolves moving together and sliding against one another, body parts sliding into others, fluids gushing onto the decking..

Jazz pulled him away, steering his gaze elsewhere. There were a million sights to see, and Prowler followed Jazz as he strode up the ramp. Jazz stepped over a passed-out alien, stepping on his leg as he clambered over his body. Another pig-like alien rolled down the ramp, this one red, and Prowler flattened himself against the bulkhead to avoid tripping. Three alien women, translucent skinned with dangling tentacles for hands, legs, and hair pressed into his sides and crowded his front. They smothered him, pressing closer and closer, and the lead started crawling up his armor, undulating toward his helm. Her tentacles rose, wrapping around his helm.

Jazz hauled Prowler free, tugging him down and away from the white squids. Prowler shuddered, glancing behind him. The women had already moved on to a drunk alien the size of Prime, with muscles bursting from his chest and a scaled ridge running along his black-haired back. Prowler watched as the tentacles wrapped around his face, seductively stroking down his neck, down his scaled ridge. Jerking, the drunk suddenly began to fight, thrashing as he lost his balance and fell. Shrieking, muffled and strained but full of agony, burst from the alien, mixed with howls and a keening snarl. From a distance, answering howls resounded, and the clatter of huge aliens on the run, but it was too late. The brute collapsed with a shudder and a final shriek, loud enough to curdle the energon in Prowler's tank.

"C'mon," Jazz whispered, guiding Prowler forward. They continued up the ramp as a mass of flying insectoids, emerald green, scaled, and armed with more laser canons than Prowler had ever seen in one place, descended through the central channel. The buzzing of their wings echoed through the cavernous station, bouncing off bulkheads and shaking Prowler's denta. The oil-slick haze smeared and swirled around the insectoids' wings, spiraling in wisps and curls.

"We're here." Jazz guided Prowler through a torn piece of nanofabric, brushing the metallic fibers past his helm as he guided Prowler into the guts of a mangled space ship now part of the station's hull and frame.

It was a bar, that much Prowler could recognize. A long bar top, with the ugliest alien yet hobbling behind the counter. Drinks were scattered across the bar top, every color, every concoction imaginable. Prowler was used to seeing columns and cubes of energon. An overflowing bolt, lager than his helm, sealed on one end, bubbled and frothed before a bat-like alien with midnight skin stretched taut over folded, scarred wings. A towering snake-alien with one laser optic and one snake eye, two mechanical arms, and a long, slithering body coiled in a tight circuit lapped at a shallow dish of putrescent green liquid. A drop slipped from the alien's mouth. The bar top seared where it landed, smoking and hissing, and a neat hole formed around the droplet. Smoke wafted through the acid burn as the droplet continued to fall, burning through the bar top, the shelves, and the decking below.

Down the bar top, three tiger-striped women with purple mohawks hung on the shoulders of a bipedal reptile warrior sporting a gigantic electro-sword hilt over his shoulder and vambraces – made from the flesh of some former opponent – lashed tight and near bursting overtop bruising forearms bursting with rippled muscles. Prowler reflexively clenched his fist. He was a mech, stronger by default that most organics, and yet, staring at the bipedal dinosaur warrior with the tiger-women licking his muscles, Prowler felt entirely inadequate and entirely too small.

The dinosaur warrior roared with laughter as a tigress licked his slit-ear. He reached out, grasping the defleshed skull of a tusked alien that was his glass and threw back a hefty slew of vibrant purple liquor. He slammed the skull back down the bar top, rattling the entire counter, and grasped the tigress around the waist. He pulled her close and snapped his jaws, capturing her lips in his serrated teeth. He chewed, lapping at her seeping blood as the tigress purred. Her friends stroked her mohawk and the warrior's scales.

Not a single alien cared. Prowler's optics blazed, rings of white pressing in on the edges of his vision. He stood stock still, not moving, trying to take everything in. Another alien was drinking out of what looked like a severed forearm. There were more skulls. More pieces of trash cobbled together to form cups and saucers. Braying laughter, undulating bodies, moans and sighs and gasps, and the slick sounds of wet flesh and sucking rhythms. A pounding beat, bass that shook Prowler's struts. Colors and flashing lights, the ever-present haze, and a smell wafting through the crowd that preached of murder and mayhem.

Jazz tucked up against Prowler's side, leaning close to his audial. "Huh," was all he said. Prowler turned giant optics to Jazz, staring at his commander. Jazz was sucking on his lip, also watching the dinosaur warrior as he continued to eat at his tigress' face. "That's new," Jazz said, tilting his helm. He shook himself, turning away from the sight, and slapped Prowler on the arm. "Let's get a drink." And with that, he took off, striding into the bar.

Prowler dove after him, but he was cut off by a blue-skinned woman sliding against his body. Sliding was too gentle a word for it. She undulated, purring around his curves and plating, stroking hands and legs and hips up his frame, fingers drifting and stroking into all of his armor seams. "Hey android," she purred. Her eyes caught Prowler's optics, and deep within her iris' violet depths, Prowler saw gears turning.

He started, trying to pull back as his body betrayed him and shuddered at her touch. He was twitching, trying to escape and pull free and get out of her grasp, but utterly betrayed by his body's seizing.

"He's not an android." Blessed Jazz, confronting the woman with a sly smile.

She barely glanced over her shoulder. "Ooo," she purred. The gears in her eyes turned again, and her irises ballooned. A laser flashed from deep within, striking Prowler's cheek. "It's been a long time since I was with a real mechanoid."

"He's got a nasty virus," Jazz said, reaching for the woman. "You don't want this one."

Prowler threw Jazz an indignant glare as he tried to duck away from the laser. Her hands were grasping on his chest plate, digging into the armor seams, and it seemed like she was trying to pry his armor apart, Wincing, he tried to break free, but her grip tightened.

"I'll risk it," she purred, leaning close. The laser dragged across his cheek, strengthening in power. He could feel it burning, and Prowler struggled, trying to push her away.

All at once she dropped, offline and cold, and crashed hard to the decking. Prowler stared down, gasping, then looked across to Jazz. Smirking, Jazz kicked at the woman's frame and held out a tiny wire he'd pulled from her neck.

"Is she dead?" Prowler gapped.

"Nah," Jazz flicked the wire at her body and helped Prowler step over her. "She'll get put back together, I guarantee it." Stopping Prowler, Jazz pressed his thumb against Prowler's cheek, then traced down his face, across his lip. Prowler jerked at the touch, and the sudden pain. "She cut you." Jazz frowned. "Sliced your lip."

Prowler rubbed at his face, wiping up a thin stream of energon leaking from his cut. "I'm fine."

"Let me know if that worsens." Jazz stared down at the cold frame once more, then turned back toward the bar. This time, he took Prowler by the arm when he set off.

They pushed and pulled and tripped their way to the bar, but finally ended up sandwiched between the coiled snake and a tiny flyer, floating on humming wings above the bar top. The snake's head was down on the bar top and his forked tongue flicked out of his open mouth with every snore. His organic eye was closed, his laser dark, and the robot arms were stretched out across the bar top akimbo.

Jazz took an extra step away from the snake, putting himself between it and Prowler. Prowler looked over his shoulder, searching for the dinosaur warrior, but he and the tigress women were gone. A pool of blood lingered on the bar top next to where his skull glass had been.

"It's bring your own cup," The bartender growled. A hunchback, the brute was nearly bent double, but easily stood taller than Prowler. His misshapen face bulged outward, mottled and pockmarked with scars and gouges. One eye bulged, pressed against a mangled cheekbone. The other was white, missing an iris entirely. Coarse black hair dotted his face in fits and patches.

Prowler worked very hard not to recoil.

Jazz didn't even blink. "Eh, I doubt you've got something for us." He grinned.

"Don't got energon, but I got energy for your mechanoids," the bartender growled. He glared at Prowler, looking him up and down. "You ain't the only ones out there, ya know."

Casually, Jazz leaned back, smirking. "Yeah, but we're the best." He winked.

Growling, the bartender left them, shaking his head. Jazz leaned forward, scrambling, trying to get his attention back.

"Whoops," Jazz grinned at Prowler. His optics held Prowler's. "You're doing great," he said quietly.

"I am sure there is a reason for all of this." Prowler quirked a tiny smile at Jazz. "I'm sure I'll be figuring it out anytime now."

Chuckling, Jazz shook his helm. He opened his mouth, ready to speak, when a seven-fingered hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"Been a while since we've seen your kind in these parts." A hot exhale ghosted over Jazz's cheek as the alien pressed closed. "Name's Packer." He held Jazz's stare, not blinking. "Who are you?"

Jazz took in Packer's cocky stance, his double-slung pistol hilts strapped to his thighs, the curved blade lashed to his forearm, and the stock of a rifle rising over his shoulder. Beefy shoulders bled into hefty arms, easily Jazz's equal in strength and size. Dark green mottled skin that was bare, no hair at all, save for curved slices of purple fur down his jawline. Packer was ugly, too, with a jutting under bite and rotten teeth sharpened to points stretching over his lip. Narrowed eyes peered at the two mechs, inky black and bottomless.

Smiling, Jazz held out his hand. "Name's Jazz," he said. "And this is Prowler. We're-"

"Cybertronian," Packer finished. "Autobots. Or you'd already be dead."

Jazz arched his optic ridges. "Sounds like you've heard of our colleagues."

Snorting, Packer tossed back his head and laughed. "Don't think there's a part of the galaxy that hasn't," he snorted. "Not with the Imperium investigatin' what they done out on Post Fall."

Prowler's processor spun, replaying the automated notice they had decrypted days before. "The seal to _ghanvar_," Prowler said. "They broke it."

"Not an it, kid," Packer growled. "_Them_. They ransacked the seals, destroyed the temple." Packer grinned t Jazz, ignoring Prowler. "You know how the Imperium takes those kind of things."

"Well, if the Imperium frags Megatron, that saves us the trouble." Jazz cocked his helm to the side. "Can I buy you a drink, Mr. Packer?"

"Me? Nah…" Packer grinned and glanced to the side. "Actually, I'm just here to warn you. You're about to be attacked. See, the Tagnots don't like no mechanoids, not since those new models came and destroyed e'eryone and e'erything on their home planet. Right genocide, or planet-cide, whatever. You stand out, and they're on the way." Packer nodded toward the bar entrance. Tuning his audials, Jazz heard the frantic noises of aliens diving out the way of a stampeding horde racing up the ramp.

"If you'll excuse us." Jazz grabbed Prowler and pulled his pistol out in one move.

Packer raised his browridge at the single pistol. "Nex' time, try and at least make it look like you're prepared for this place." He stepped aside, just as the shouting from the ramp suddenly rose, screams echoing and shots firing as the horde pressed forward. "There's a bolt hole out back. 'Round the bar to the left."

Jazz nodded and pushed Prowler ahead of him toward the bolt hole.

"If you need help, head to the roof!" Packer called after them, right before the horde of Tagnots burst into the bar. Unfortunately, the crowd jostled the sleeping snake, and the cobra-mech alien roared up, fangs flaring, tongue lashing. He grabbed his rifle, slung over his back, and fired with his robot arms as he dove and struck, snapping and biting at the Tagnots.

Not to be left out, the rest of the bar joined in, and in no time flat, the brawl was on. Smirking, Packer faded to the background, disappearing into the shadows.

Jazz squeezed alongside Prowler through the bolt hole, a crap of space wedged between two bulkheads that didn't join. The central shaft was just before them, and both mechs scraped their armor in the last few inches before pushing free. Gasping, Jazz pressed them both against the bulkhead and looked around, clearing up and down the ramp. For the moment, they were alone, but the sounds of screaming, of laser blasts, broken glass, and roars echoed from the bar. A body flew through the door, disappearing down the central shaft.

A Tagnot standing guard outside the bar watched the alien sail past his head, then fall to the depths. As he turned back, his beady eyes fixed on Jazz.

Snarling, the Tagnot barked and brayed, calling his compatriots with a howl. Cursing, Jazz pushed at Prowler, pushing him to run upwards on the ramp. Prowler took off, his long legs pumping hard, but the Tagnots ran on all fours, leaping and bounding as their jaws snapped and they howled, catching up with Jazz and Prowler.

Prowler heard a distant hum, the vibration of wings echoing against the bulkheads and penetrating the station's bones. He felt it in his denta, again. "Jazz!" Prowler shouted. "We need to jump!"

"What!" Jazz fired over his shoulder, knocking a Tagnot down. He fell, taking out the three beasts around him.

"Jump!" Prowler grabbed Jazz's arm and pulled, yanking him to the side of the ramp. "Now!"

Prowler leapt, not letting go of Jazz. They sailed over the edge together, Jazz less gracefully than Prowler. Jazz cursed, then cursed again as his pistol slipped from his hands. Prowler held his breath as they fell, plunging into the putrescent haze. He wanted to squeeze his optics shut, but he forced them to stay online. Any moment, any moment…

Out of the haze, the insectoids rose, wings beating furiously as they climbed through the central shaft. Prowler was just above one, and he reached out with both hands, grasping onto the slick exo-armor as he slammed into the alien. Jazz missed, sliding off the side of the insectoid, and Prowler scrambled for his hand as Jazz scrabbled and slid over the side, about to plunge to the depths. He grasped Jazz's wrist at the last moment, and Jazz dangled from his grip as Prowler clung to the Insectoid's neck. Jazz met Prowler's gaze, his optics wide and surging beneath his visor.

Angry buzzing resounded as the insectoid bucked, trying to throw the two mechs off. Prowler hauled, tugging Jazz onto the flyer's back. The alien bucked again, swerving to the side. Too close, it veered to toward the ramp, and a Tagnot followed Jazz and Prowler, leaping onto the insectoid's back.

Standing, Jazz and Prowler faced off against the snarling Tagnot. It knelt on its four legs, hind quarters in the air, preparing to launch as it slobbered and growled. The insectoid shuddered, spinning faster as it ascended, trying to shake off the invaders. More insectoids rose, trying to reach their partner in distress

The Tagnot lunged and Jazz dove in its path. Jaws snapped around Jazz's forearm, teeth sinking into armor with ease. Jazz shouted, grimacing, and kicked at the Tagnot. He kicked over and over, smashing and pummeling his foot into the Tagnot's stomach. It wouldn't give up, wouldn't let go, sinking its teeth deeper into Jazz's arm. With a growl, the Tagnot swung Jazz hard, and Jazz's arm strut gave way with a splintering crack.

Prowler charged, bringing his arms together and slamming his fists down on the Tagnot's neck. It jolted, shocked, and finally let go of Jazz only to turn on Prowler. Snarling, the Tagnot leapt over Jazz and snapped at Prowler. Prowler backed away, out of range, but quickly ran out of space on the back of the insectoid.

The fractional whine of a charging laser canon was Prowler's only warning. He ducked, flattening himself down as one of the insectoid's partners leveled off next to them. Charging its laser canon, the new arrival fired, take square aim at the Tagnot. The beast disappeared in a shower of fur and blood, obliterated with a scream.

The laser canon whined again, charging again. Scrambling, Prowler scooped Jazz up and leapt blind through the haze. His legs pumped through the air as he flew, and, finally, he slammed into the bulkhead and the upward sloping ramp.

Stunned, Prowler rolled to his side. Jazz was breathing hard and clutching his forearm to his chest. The plating was crushed and energon stained the gashes. "Have to keep moving," Jazz said through gritted denta. "Let's get to the roof."

Prowler helped Jazz to his feet with a slow nod, and the two mechs moved up the ramp as quick as they could. Below, beneath the haze, they heard the snarls of Tagnots and the blasts of laser fire, but it seemed that they had left the battle behind for the moment.

* * *

><p>Prowl had been arguing with himself all day. He was certain that he was losing, and he didn't know what that meant.<p>

Sighing, Prowl straightened his data pads another micrometer. No, that wasn't straight. He'd cocked their angle again. He straighten them back to rights, another micrometer. Rolling his optics, Prowl sighed and folded his hands together.

His foot bounced, up and down.

Prowl pitched forward, thunking his helm on the table. He groaned.

Hope was out with his friends, hanging out at Trailbreaker's with the other mechlets. Clearsweep had gotten the new game that all the mechlets wanted, and they had descended on Trailbreaker's after classes _en masse_. Prowl had smiled. It was just like Bumblebee and the minibots, all over again.

Turning over his decision for the umpteenth time, Prowl faltered. What would Jazz say about this? He sighed. Jazz wasn't here and the situation had progressed without him. Prowl had to make a call, and it was either this or… Or he didn't know what. He wanted to be supportive. He wanted to be caring. He wanted to be respectful.

But, he also wanted to lock Hope away and ground him until he was thirty. Because.

Prowl shook his helm. He didn't remember his teen years, his burgeoning progress from mechlet to mech. He certainly didn't think that he was anything like Hope – there hadn't been any love affair, any passionate pursuit of another mech. He had increased responsibilities, and then the war. Survival.

Prowl supposed it was a good thing that Hope was indulging in a love affair. If he was safe enough to fall in love, then that was something. Still… Hope and Fawn were the only mechlets to start dating, and they had been the talk of the _Ark_. Mechs were teasing Prowl, asking when the two were going to apply for their own quarters.

Prowl was not ready for that.

He wasn't ready for any of this. None of it. He wanted his sparkling back. He wanted to be worried about arithmetic and learning to read, not worrying whether Hope was lying to him or whether he and Fawn would try something stupid.

Hence, his decision. Mirage and Hound had made it clear that Fawn was responsible for his own decisions, including interfacing, and for those repercussions. Thanks to the mandatory grounds, at least the biggest worry was allayed.

Prowl still felt like he was losing his sparkling.

He stayed with his helm down against the table.

When the doors slid open, Prowl slowly sat up, unkinking his back and his stretching struts. From the doorway, Hope smirked at him. "Working too much?"

Prowl shook his helm. "Waiting for you."

Hope stopped mid-step. He froze, turning toward Prowl with a frown. Prowl could see him cataloging his recent actions, all of his deeds. "What'd I do?" Hope asked, expecting censure.

Prowl tried to smile, he really did. Instead, he swallowed. "You didn't do anything," he said. He exhaled. "Sit with me?"

Hesitant, Hope stared Prowl down as he sat at the furthest chair, far too slowly. He waited, palms down on the tabletop.

Prowl nearly lost his nerve. He nearly bailed, nearly asked about Hope's day and passed the whole episode off as another of Prowl's lame parent moments. He inhaled, breathing deep. "I'm going to go over to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's tonight," he started. "I'm going to help them with Streaker until morning." He exhaled. "You'll be on your own for the night."

Prowl saw Hope put it all together. "I'm grounded for something, right?"

Prowl shook his helm.

Hope stared at him. "Am I allowed to have friends over?"

Smiling thinly, Prowl nodded. "You are allowed to have friends over. You are allowed to have Fawn over," he clarified, wanting to be explicit.

Hope stared at Prowl. He narrowed his optics trying to figure the angle out. "Is this a test?"

Prowl shook his helm. "No." His voice was low and filling with static. "I'd rather you be protected, safe and secure when you decide to interface, Hope." Hope exhaled hard, looking away. "I know how close you and Fawn have gotten. I'm not dumb." He smiled. "Though sometimes I like to pretend to be." He fought for Hope's gaze again. "Hope," he started, "you will sneak around and try to hide your interfacing, or panic about it, or try to keep it secret, and you'll just be exposing yourself to hurt and stress and stupidity that's not needed." Prowl tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "You're all grown up, Hope. And I support you and I support your relationship." Inhaling deeply, Prowl delivered what felt like his final statement as a parent. "If you want to have Fawn spend the night, that's your choice."

Silence. Hope stared at Prowl, his mouth open. "Seriously?" Hope finally breathed.

Prowl nodded.

Hope swallowed and looked down. He pursed his lips, then frowned at Prowl. "You have do everything the weird way, you know that, right?"

Prowl chuckled. "I just try to be honest with you, Hope."

Suddenly serious, Hope nodded. "I know." He nodded. "I know." Hope swallowed. "I think I love Fawn."

Prowl arched his optic ridges. "I would hope that you feel strongly for him," Prowl said. "Given how close you two are."

Laughing, Hope shook his helm. "I mean, it's not just physical. It's not just 'cause we're young and our interfacing systems are online."

"I appreciate the clarification." Prowl smiled. "I can tell you guys are close. Although…" He smirked at Hope. "I've also seen you two making out more than I ever cared to."

Hope had the courtesy to look embarrassed. "Sorry," he said, sheepish.

Silence stretched between them. Prowl held Hope's gaze. He smiled at his mechlet. "You're all grown up," he whispered.

"So, um, when are you heading out?" Hope bit his lip.

Looking down, Prowl laughed at himself. He shook his helm. "Soon." He bit his lip. "Just… wait until I'm gone for Fawn to come over, okay?"

* * *

><p>Sunstreaker and Sideswipe lounged together on the couch with Streaker balanced on Sunstreaker's chestplates. Streaker was in between online and offline, bleary optics fading and flickering as he digested his evening energon. Two cubes of fortified energon sat on the couch table for the twins.<p>

Prowl sat on the couch table too, watching Streaker's quiet exhales. It hurt his spark, seeing what he couldn't have, but he was overjoyed for the twins. Quiet contentment radiated from the two.

Sunstreaker stroked his hand down Streaker's back.

"We tried for so long," Sideswipe murmured. "We almost gave up."

Prowl's gears stuck in his throat.

"Prowler and Hope were the only mechlets without brothers." Sideswipe peered at Prowl. "Why didn't you guys have more? I mean, I know about Jazz…" Sideswipe's voice faded away as Prowl stared down at the decking. "Prowl?"

Prowl shook his helm. "I can't carry," he choked out. "Something's broken. I can't form a sparkline." He tried to swallow. "Ratchet tried everything, tried even seeding my tank. It just won't spark." He looked up, meeting the twin's gazes. "Hope is all we'll ever have."

"Prowl…" Sideswipe breathed. Even Sunstreaker was frowning, staring at Prowl. "I'm so sorry," Sideswipe shook his helm.

Suddenly, Sunstreaker was sitting up, rearranging Streaker. Streaker gurgled, his optics surging briefly, and he blinked as Sunstreaker passed him across to Prowl. "Here."

Prowl hesitated, but finally wrapped his arms around Streaker's fragile, tiny body. He was days old, just released from the medbay, and still smelled new and fresh. Prowl buried his helm in Streaker's neck, inhaling. Memories poured in, Hope's spark-breaking emergence, the strain of his first year, and how he and Jazz were robbed of the simple delights of raising a healthy sparkling. Hope's grown face flashed in his processor, laughing, arguing, studying over a data pad from Ratchet. Kissing Fawn.

Keening, Prowl rocked forward, clinging to Streaker. He wasn't ready for it all to be over, but it was. Hope was all grown up, beginning a new life with another mech. He and Jazz would be left alone, picking up their lives as if a twenty-year blip had been just a minor interruption.

"You'll always be a part of this family," Sideswipe said softly. His hand rubbed over Prowl's shoulder, down his back. "We need your help to raise our sparklings the right way."

Prowl shook his helm. "You guys are great parents."

"So are you," Sunstreaker said softly.

Straightening, Prowl adjusted Streaker's blanket. "I suppose I have 100 mechlets, in reality." He smiled at the twins. "The crew can be like a horde of teenaged mechlets at times."

Sideswipe laughed, throwing his helm back. "There is that." He smiled. "There is so much change coming, Prowl. So much that is going to happen with us. I for one feel better about it knowing that you're at the helm." He nudged Prowl's shoulder. "'Dad'."

Prowl shot Sideswipe a frigid glare. Sunstreaker snorted as Prowl shook his helm. "I'll ground you," Prowl threatened Sideswipe.

"Thought Jazz was the grounder?"

"We both are equal-opportunity grounders." Prowl finally smiled. "Thanks for letting me stay with you guys tonight." He purposely didn't think about what was happening in his own quarters.

"Are you kidding?" Sunstreaker smirked. "You offered to take care of Streaker overnight. Anytime."

Prowl smiled and patted Streaker on the back. He knew the three of them would be up all night together, caring for the sparkling hand in hand. He let the comfort of friends wash over him, the familiarity of the twins and their unconditional acceptance seep into the plating. Smiling down at Streaker, Prowl pressed a soft kiss to the sparkling's helm. "You're one lucky mechlet," he whispered.

* * *

><p>Hope stared into Fawn's optics. He cupped his face, stroking his thumbs along Fawn's cheek ridges. Fawn gazed back, his optics burning bright, as he braced himself above Hope.<p>

"I think I love you," Hope whispered.

Smiling, Fawn pushed forward, entering Hope for the first time. Together they gasped, optics surging, and Hope gripped Fawn's helm. Fawn leaned down, pressing a deep kiss to Hope's lips. When they parted, they were panting, and Fawn started rocking slowly, in and out.

"I know that I love you," Fawn whispered back. Hope beamed up at Fawn, then gasped, optics rolling back in his helm. Fawn shuddered and wrapped Hope up in his arms. He pressed kisses to Hope's neck as he rocked slowly, loving Hope throughout the night.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Chap 4 is already written and will be up soon.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Unforeseen Four**

* * *

><p>Somehow, Mirage's third sparkling caught him by surprise.<p>

Sunstreaker had had the distinct honor of being the only mech to have delivered a sparkling _sans_ sedatives, but Mirage barreled right through that record and set a new standard of ridiculousness with Cascade's emergence. Mirage had ignored the pre-emergence signs from his body, too wrapped up in an hours-long project with Prime. Suddenly, his body was shrieking, his tank was convulsing, and Mirage was pushing Cascade out in the middle of Prime's office.

Hound barely made it and screeched in to Prime's office just in time for Mirage's frustrated shrieking. Prime, stoically trying to calm the spy down, was silent through Mirage's blistering tirade of modern medicine, Ratchet, Primus, the act of creation itself, and the sparkling tearing his frame in two.

Ratchet missed the event entirely. Second sparklings came quick. Third sparklings even quicker.

First Aid and Hope rushed in with the gurney just after Prime caught Cascade and all of the mess in his hands as Mirage leaned against his desk with Hound holding his hands. Mirage collapsed against Hound as Prime awkwardly passed Cascade to Hope. First Aid helped Mirage onto the gurney, covering him with a blanket, and the whole mess of mechs headed to the medbay, where Ratchet was waiting with a deep laugh.

Fawn sped into the medbay an hour later, trailing Spectrum, and the family gathered around Mirage and their new brother, Cascade. Fawn was overjoyed, delighting at the new sparkling, and he played with Cascade's tiny fingers and kissed the base of his feet.

Hope hung back. He'd cleaned Cascade, as he'd cleaned Streaker, and taken the readings and measurements for the new mechlet's baseline vitals. But, he didn't see the attraction. He didn't see the draw in a shrieking, howling, angry ball of sparkling. Every time Hope got near to either Cascade or Streaker, the sparklings would quiver, then wail, suddenly pissed at being separated from their parents.

Hope was happy to give the sparklings right back.

* * *

><p>Prowler lolled his helm against the grimy bulkhead. Something was growing on it. He sniffed. It stank. He cycled his optics, trying to refresh the feed. Nope, still stuck in the cell. He tried again. Nope.<p>

He and Jazz had nearly made it to the top levels of the station when they were jumped from behind, shocked with electro-prods and knocked down to the ramp decking. Prowler had lost his vents and he'd been struggling to breathe. Next to him, Jazz had fought back, writhing and kicking, and all Prowler saw was a heavy fist slam into Jazz's helm before a black hood was thrown over his helm and everything went dark. He was offline after that, and when he came online, he and Jazz were locked in the grimy cell together.

Something red was dripping in the corner, pooling slowly. Prowler stayed away from that.

"Two days," Jazz said, breaking the silence. He winced as he shifted. "So, what's the play here?"

Prowler frowned. He thunked his helm against the bulkhead. "We're still on the station." He could feel the off-cycle thrum of uneven power pushing in fits and starts through the mismatched structure, and the groaning of too much metal borne together. "We could have been transported anywhere by now. They aren't moving us."

Jazz nodded.

"Our shuttle is probably trashed."

"So it's a good thing we planted that database wipe in Teletraan." Jazz nodded to Prowler.

Prowler nodded back. "They're waiting for something. Or someone."

Again, Jazz nodded. He picked at a piece of the grime growing near his helm. Black flakes smeared on his fingers. Jazz sniffed, then reared back. He rubbed his hands on his thigh, grimacing.

"Jazz?" Prowler swallowed. "Back in that bar, when that alien android was trying to get in me…"

Jazz's optic ridges rose and he smiled slowly. "You gonna tell me not to interrupt next time?"

Prowler shook his helm. "You said… you said that I had a nasty virus."

"Was trying to get rid of her." Jazz shook his helm. "You're fine."

Prowler looked down. He pressed his lips together, picking at his paint. "But I'm not fine," he finally said. He looked up, meeting Jazz's gaze. "You know about me, don't you?"

"Know what?" Jazz frowned.

"You know that I'm the product of incest." Prowler held his chin level, refusing to back down.

Jazz threw his helm back, laughing out loud. "Oh, Prowler," he chuckled. "'The product of incest?'" He shook his helm. "Where do you even get to talkin' like that?" Jazz sighed, sobering as Prowler stared at him. "Prowler, I know that you're a damn fine mech, and you're the mechlet of some damn fine mechs. Your parents love each other –"

"My parents are brothers."

"So?" Jazz frowned at Prowler. "Are you mad at them for that?"

"It's not right." Prowler shook his helm. "It's a secret from the crew."

"What does this matter to you?" Jazz shook his helm again. "You are what you are. There isn't a mech on the crew who thinks any less of you and who doesn't think that you're amazing."

Prowler finally looked away. "What if I'm broken, just like them?" his voice was a whisper.

Jazz took his time responding. "Is it 'broken' to fall in love with who you love?"

Silence. Jazz sighed. He balled up flecks of grime and bits of metal from the floor and rolled it into a ball. Smirking, Jazz flicked it toward Prowler. The grime ball smacked Prowler in the cheek.

Prowler glared as Jazz chuckled. "So. We've been gone for about two weeks." Jazz gingerly crossed his arms. "Think Sunny has had your brother yet?"

Prowler nodded. "I'm sure of it." He smiled, soft. "Wonder what he's like."

"You'll see soon."

Prowler nodded. His smile stayed on his face.

Jazz peered at Prowler. "Excited about your bro, but mad about your own creation?" He tilted his helm, questioning.

Prowler looked away. He frowned.

"So…" Jazz started again. His vocalizer trailed off. "About Hope." Prowler finally grinned again. He rolled his optics and turned back to Jazz, watching expectantly. Jazz chuckled and shook his helm. "What's up with him and Fawn?"

Prowl shrugged. "They're dating. Hope's helm over heels for him."

"It's not just…" Jazz pursed his lips. "Interfacing?"

Prowler shook his helm. "They haven't yet, as far as I know."

Jazz exhaled, long and hard. "I mean, I like Fawn. He's not bad." Silence, as Prowler's grin grew. "But, you know, Hope is my mechlet." He shook his helm. "I just hope that either he or Prowl are still online when I get back." Jazz shrugged. "I mean, preferably both. But they're not doin' too well together right now."

Prowler just smiled. He looked away. He wasn't about to share Hope's secrets or his thoughts with Jazz. There were some sacred spaces in their friendship, no matter how much he might care for Jazz and Prowl on his own.

Jazz peered at Prowler. "You okay with Hope dating?"

Prowler stared back at Jazz, puzzled. He shrugged. "Why would I care?"

Jazz chuckled and shook his helm. Unseen, Prowler was balling up his own wad of grime, and he flicked it toward Jazz as Jazz leaned his helm back. The grime ball landed on Jazz's lips and Jazz spat, cursing, as Prowler laughed aloud.

"Glad to see y'all are in the goodest of moods." Packer's rough voice boomed through the cell as the heavy door rolled back on squeaking hinges. Prowler and Jazz scrambled to their feet. "Glad you're both in one piece. You'll be happy to know that the Tagnots believe you're both dead and that the station has forgotten that you've e'er been 'ere."

"It was you?" Prowler's optics blazed.

Jazz shook his helm. "And our shuttle?"

Packer spread his hands. "All taken care of. Secured up on the top levels."

"Unmolested, I'm sure." Jazz arched his optic ridges at Packer.

Packer scoffed. "You can't blame a man for takin' a lil peek." He grinned. "C'mon, I got some energy and I think you and me gots some tradin' to do." Packer motioned out of the cell, beckoning the two mechs to join him. Bruise-sized gorillas flanked Packer, covered head to toe in coarse black hair. Red eyes tracked Jazz and Prowler's every move.

Jazz sighed and motioned to Prowler. "After you."

* * *

><p>Hope chimed for entry at Fawn's quarters. His shift had just ended, but Prowl was working late and he didn't want to be alone. Hope bounced on his feet, waiting for Fawn.<p>

Cursing sounded in the quarters, then a thud. Hope heard Cascade start to wail and he cringed.

The doors slid open. Fawn glared out into the hallway.

"Whoops?" Hope raised his hands. "Sorry."

Fawn sighed and rolled his optics. Cascade's wails were louder without the door keeping him contained. "You woke him up, you get to help me get him back down." Fawn dragged Hope inside and over to Cascade's miniberth. Carefully, Fawn cradled Cascade close to his chest, rocking the sparkling gently.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Spec' is staying late on his shift and Mirage and Hound are out for the day. I'm watching Cascade." Fawn rocked his brother, pressing a kiss to his forehelm. Cascade was already quieting, settling down.

Hope grinned. "So we have the place to ourselves." He reached out, stroking down Fawn's chest. "Let's get Cascade put back to recharge."

Fawn grinned. "Slow down, energizer bunny." He patted Cascade gently. "First things first."

* * *

><p>Sideswipe paced in Prowl's office. "When are they coming home?" Sideswipe demanded. "It's been over a month!"<p>

Prowl sighed. "I don't like this any more than you do, Sideswipe."

"Jazz took my mechlet!" Sideswipe shouted. "He missed his brother's emergence!"

Prowl stared at Sideswipe.

"He said two weeks!"

"Jazz said between two and seven weeks," Prowl corrected. "It's week five. The mission is still within parameters."

Sideswipe groaned and flopped into Prowl's office chair. "This sucks slag," he groaned.

Prowl nodded. "Jazz hasn't been on a mission since the war ended," he said quietly. "I knew I would miss him, but this mission is lengthy." He looked down. "I miss him more than I thought I would."

Sideswipe looked up from his slouch. "I'd go crazy if Sunny were gone that long."

"I guess that's a good thing." Prowl started straightening his pads, always a bad sign. "I had wondered if we had grown too used to each other. If Hope was what bound us together."

Sideswipe stared. "Is that why you wanted another sparkling?" he asked quietly.

Prowl frowned. "I'm not entirely sure." He swallowed. "I love being a parent. It's my favorite job in the universe. But…" Prowl shook his helm. "I don't know if Jazz and I know how to relate to each other outside of being parents."

Frowning, Sideswipe pursed his lips. "Y'all need to go on a date."

Prowl laughed, short and light. "You are not wrong."

Sideswipe pointed at Prowl. "First thing when he gets back. You and him, off on a date. Take some time off. Go let loose. Primus, you'll need it before everything that's going to happen." Prowl was nodding. Sideswipe grinned. "I mean, it's not like you have to worry about Hope. He'll be with Fawn, probably 'facing each other-hey!"

Prowl threw a data pad at Sideswipe, chunking the pad off the red twin's arm. "Out with you," Prowl waved. "I do not need to think about that."

Sideswipe heaved himself to his feet. He sighed. "Do you have any idea when they're getting back?"

Sadly, Prowl shook his helm. "We have a blanket protocol that forbids comms when outside of the Ort cloud. We don't want to track anything back to Earth, not yet." He smiled at Sideswipe. "I'll let you know the moment that I hear their comm from the outer markers."

Sideswipe nodded. "Even if it's the middle of the night."

Prowl nodded. "Even then. But you get to deal with Streaker."

* * *

><p>"Alright, mech, let's deal." Packer hunched forward, bracing his forearms against the torn ship hull that served as his table in his 'command center', as he dubbed it. Balanced on two spent tanks of antimatter fuel, the tear of hull still bore the old ships' registration number, scrawled in alien script. Monitors hung from the walls all around, crowding the space. Views of the station from every angle, every location filled the screens. A fight in the bar. Passed out aliens on the ramp. A shanking on the lower levers. What looked like an orgy. Shuttles coming and going. Prowler forced his optics away from the display. Packer had the entire station under surveillance, every rivet, every bolt, every section, every coming and going.<p>

"What do you have that I want?" Jazz leaned back, frowning at their former captor.

"Information." Packer grinned, sly. "The galactic quadrant has changed a whole bunch since you all disappeared. Everyon' thought you were all dead and gone, and the 'sudden' reappearance of two mechs, two Autobots, is sure to send a'flutter through the quadrant." Packer spread his hands. "That flutter can be good or it can be not so good."

"You the new muscle in town?" Jazz still wasn't engaged.

"I'm a businessman," Packer said. "I do business."

"What is it you want to know?" Jazz spat, leaving a pile of lubricants on the deck. Prowler's spark nearly stopped as his vents hitched.

Packer didn't flinch. "What's goin' on wit' your 'Con buddies. Where're you all hidin' now. One of the last packs o' the Viter disappeared chasin' your ghosts. Y'got some kind of action you bringin' into the quadrant? You makin' a play for power?"

Jazz was silent, taking Packer's gush of words in. He smiled and leaned forward. "I think we can dance, partner," he breathed.

"Deal. Hit me." Packer slapped the table.

"What happened to the Viter? You said the last pack attacked us. Yeah, we killed them all. Where did the rest go? They controlled this quadrant."

"Did." Packer flexed his arms, cracked his knuckles. "Got too big in their space ships for the Imperium. Imperium cracked down on them. And that lil adventure to track you down? That was supposed to bring em' back to life." Packer grinned. "Your reputation as killers precedes you."

Jazz nodded, pursing his lips. "Deal."

"Where you hidin' out?"

"No deal." Jazz shook his helm. "Our base of operations is purposely concealed. We will kill anyone who breaches our space." He smashed his fist on Packer's hand, slamming him into the table. "Anyone."

"Ow, _julu_, ow, for _julu's_ sake, fine!" Packer growled as he rubbed his hand. "You're strong, obviously. Lil' bit here and you look harmless enough, but you killed the Viter and you got some nerve walkin' into this station like you own the place. What's your power base?"

"Unlimited resources," Jazz purred. "Unlimited energy. We're looking to establish trade partners."

Packer was quiet. "What kind of energy?"

"Convertible nuclear. Raw material. Malleable." Jazz smirked. "Whatever you need it to be."

Packer's mouth fell open. He gaped and pointed at Jazz. "You know I got systems tryin' to harvest their own _julu_ stars!" He shook his head, his mouth searching for words. "And you walk in here an' say yous got unlimited energy?"

"I thought we were dealing?"

"Whatever ya say, mech!" Packer threw his hands in the air.

"What the frag happened out here?" Jazz leaned forward. "It wasn't this warlike. Guns everywhere? The Imperium doesn't allow that."

Packer grinned. "It has been a while since you been out, innt?" He leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "See, it's like this. The Imperium is dyin'. And they know it. And so does e'eryone else."

"Why? How?"

"Oh, lots o' reasons. They're due, for one. _Julu's_ are due to die out. There's also some new faces in the quadrant. Mechanoids, like you lot. But worse than you wretched mess ever were."

Jazz frowned. "Hey, we're the good guys."

"Yeah, yeah, your war still devastated the place. Think o' your neighbors next time you destroy a few systems, eh?" Packer shook his head. "But these new mechs, they're crazy. Insane lookin'. Tall, thin. Any atmosphere. Any environment. They're spooky. Don't say nothin'. Only two or three of 'em are ever seen anywhere at a time. All crazy like. Everyone just ignored 'em. Weren't doin' nothin'."

Jazz sighed and raised his optic ridges.

"But then, they went out and destroyed the Rica Belt." Packer nodded at Jazz's sudden shock. "Destroyed a whole asteroid colony. Minin' operations, the factories, everythin'. And they've been clearing systems out on the western frontier, too."

Frowning, Prowler piped up. "Thought you said there were only small groups of them?"

Packer snorted at Prowler. "Said that's all that's ever been seen. No one knows how many there are. They're like ghosts. Disappear, reappear. No one's seen 'em since they destroyed the Tagnot system. All them's now refugees." Packer shifted and smirked. "And I don' know about you, but I ain't takin' that disgustin' lot in."

"So they've been challenging the Imperium?" Jazz was still trying to get a handle on everything that had changed.

"No, no," Packer waved his hand. "Not directly, not like. But the Imperium hasn' been able to find 'em. Hasn' been able to kill 'em." Packer ticked off the failings on his stubby, filthy fingers. "Shows the Imperium is weak, no matter how many death squads they send out. Or how many agents get to wanderin' about."

"How many death squads are out?" Prowler frowned at Jazz's question. Any more than one sounded like too many.

"We were trackin' about a thousand twenty solar cycles ago. Now…" Packer shrugged and exhaled. "Far less." Grinning, Packer leaned forward, pressing close. "And then, your friend Megatron-"

"He's not our friend." Prowler glared at Packer, but Jazz shot Prowler a quick look, silencing him.

Packer growled under his breath. "Your lil' friend Megatron went and sacked the _Raj al'Kathouir_ temple. No one sacks the _Raj_. So." Packer ticked off his points again. "You got ghost mechanoids slaughtering systems, and the Imperium ain't doing nothin' about it. You got Megatron – another mechanoid – sacking the _Raj_ temple, and the Imperium ain't doing nothin' about it. You got the Viter dead, and now free trade is all a-boomin' industry round here, and the Imperium ain't doing nothin' about it. He lifted one hand, miming a trigger pull. "And e'reyone is a mite bit twitchy with all this excitement going on." Packer pointed at Jazz's chest. "So you tell me why I should believe that you ain't tryin' to come in here and take power from the big guys. You got what you claim you got, you could make a play. I wanna know what side of the game to be on, you got me?"

"Simple," Jazz said. "We don't want it." He held Packer's gaze.

"Well, someone's goin' to be takin' it, and it won't be long now. Could even be your friend Megatron."

"We won't let that happen."

"Yeah?" Packer snorted, laughing. "You sure did stop him the firs' thousand times we heard that." Shaking his head, Packer folded his arms and leaned against the table. "Look, you wanna trade, we can trade. Y'got energy, I got systems that need energy. Y'tell me what you need. I'll set up buyers in systems and keep it all nice and quiet like."

"We'll pay extra for safety. And for information."

"Deal. Forewarn ya on anythin' happenin." Packer held out his hand. "Do we have an agreement?"

Jazz stared at Packer. He rocked on his arms, shifting in his lean against the table. Prowler held his breath. Didn't they need Prime, or Prowl, or anyone at all? Didn't an alliance, and one that would shape the future of the Autobots' trade and galactic relations, require more than a grimy back room deal and a filthy handshake?

"We have a deal." Jazz reached out, grasping Packer's hand. Grinning, the two shook, and Packer slammed his hand on the table after they broke.

"Whoo!" Packer cheered. "You are goin' to make me a lot of credits, my friend." He whistled, clapping to himself. "Now, get you back to your lil hidey-hole and come on back when you are ready to start tradin'. I'll get all the buyers lined up for ya." Packer paused, squinting at Jazz. "And, I suppose this will be a 'you'll call me' type of deal?"

"Don't comm us," Jazz said. "We'll comm you." He motioned to Prowler. "It will be me or Prowler. Never anyone else."

Packer nodded. "Good t' know." Turning, Packer tapped at a rickety keyboard, barely hanging onto its wall mount. "Your shuttle is up on my special dock, by the by." He winked over his shoulder. "Had to keep it secure for ya."

Jazz shook his helm and fixed Packer with a wry glare. "We're ever so grateful." His voice oozed disdain.

"I do what I can." Packer motioned toward a sloping gangway leading to the forward bulkhead. "Right that way and you'll find your ship." He waved as the two mechs passed him by. "Oh, and one more thing." Packer smirked at Jazz. "If you double cross me, I will find you and I will kill you both."

* * *

><p>Streaker and Cascade weren't the only sparklings to arrive. Suddenly, it seemed that everyone was having another sparkling, and there was a burst of new mechlets and sparklings on board. Ratchet pulled Hope and First Aid both into more of the direct exams of the carriers, and, for Beachcomber, Hope was allowed to assist Ratchet in the delivery.<p>

Hope was also given more responsibilities in the medbay in conjunction with his phase-out from classes. He was given longer-term projects to work on in his spare time from Wheeljack, a study-at-home set up, in addition to the continued training from Ratchet. But, for the most part, Hope, Prowler, Fawn, Roader, and Piston were out of classes. The classroom seemed a little smaller without the oldest mechlets.

Hope was given full responsibility for all medbay walk-ins. The troubled joints, torn or pulled cables, loose wires, tumbling tanks, and energy imbalances were the standard walk-in complaints, and Hope was the mech to see on-call. Most mechs rolled with their new medic, though Ironhide – who came in every week for his 'old achin' joints' – couldn't resist calling Hope "mechlet" at every opportunity, especially when Hope made such a face about it.

On top of Hope's expanded duties, Ratchet tasked Hope and First Aid with lead roles on a medical research and applied sciences project. Ratchet supervised as First Aid and Hope both tinkered and finagled systems to find the best modifications possible to protect non-space-capable mechs for decompression and zero-g environments. Full mods took time – only Silverbolt had had mods installed so that he could fly with Skyfire, Sky Lynx, and Cosmos, who naturally had decompression controls as part of their frames and modes. But, what could be done to protect the rest of the mechs, keep them safe in an emergency decompression, or save their lives?

All of the added responsibilities equaled a more than full duty shift for Hope, and there were evenings where Hope worked late, sometimes getting back even after Prowl. Where a year ago Hope had bemoaned every minute he was trapped in classes, Hope savored every minute he was working with the mechs in the medbay, or side-by-side with First Aid. His steps were lighter, his optics clear and bright, and he sported a smile more often than not.

The extra duties also meant Hope had less free time to spend with Fawn, though.

Fawn, as well, was wrapped up in his own duties with Engineering. Fawn worked closely with Skyfire and Roader. Piston worked with Hoist and Grapple mostly, but the whole department was pretty tight knit. After Cascade's emergence, Fawn began to spend more time with Roader and Piston, asking them about taking care of sparklings and sharing stories about Cascade.

Piston invited himself and Bam Bam over, with Roader in tow, to visit with Fawn and Cascade. Cascade was still too young to play with Bam Bam directly, but the sparklings had enjoyed it, and so had Fawn, Piston, and Roader. Even Spectrum was hanging around Fawn again, and the two brothers weren't calling each other 'frag-face' every other minute.

Hope swung by to visit Fawn after working a late shift one evening and was told by Mirage that Fawn and Spectrum were with Roader, Piston, Didget, Gidget, Widget, and Bam Bam outside, playing in the sparkling play area. Surprised, Hope headed out to meet up with Fawn. Why hadn't Fawn comm'd to tell him where he was? Hope would have joined them, if he'd known.

Fawn waved happily and kissed Hope when Hope arrived, but he ran back to the sparklings as soon as he'd said hello. Hope perched on the fencepost and watched, separated and apart from the sparkling play. His optics roamed over Fawn, watching him digging in the sand with Bam Bam and pushing Widget on the swings. Fawn was an amazing mentor to the sparklings, and when Cascade was Bam Bam's age – which would be no time at all – he'd be a fantastic older brother.

Hope tried to smile as he looked up at the stars. Prowler would be back soon, he hoped. Prowler was the closest thing he had to a brother, and he'd always been the older, steadier influence, the anchor to Hope's desperation and constant push and yearn for more.

Hope didn't know what having a brother felt like, but watching Fawn dote over his brother, and over Roader and Piston's brother's, Hope thought that maybe it was something close to what he and Prowler had had over the years – that constant orbit around each other, a push-pull of keeping the other on an even keel, and a care that ran deeper than their lines.

He stared at the stars, hoping Prowler was on his way home.

* * *

><p>The shuttle wasn't overly molested, though Packer had definitely ransacked Teletraan. The database wipe had worked perfectly and Jazz showed Prowler a quick forensics scan that showed Packed was stymied at the wipe. Their secrets – Earth's location, for one – were still safe.<p>

Jazz gritted his denta as he lifted the shuttle off, piloting them away from the station. He pressed his broken forearm to his chestplates, trying to ignore the pain. Prowler watched from the copilot's seat, frowning at Jazz.

"Yeah, yeah," Jazz finally said. "You can take over the controls. Time for flight lessons anyway." Jazz leaned back, rubbing his forearm as Prowler transferred control to his terminal. "We can't go back yet," Jazz murmured.

Prowler threw Jazz a questioning look. He banked the shuttle gently, setting a slow course for the Earth system.

"We can't go back like this." Jazz motioned between their two frames. Filth clung to their armor, oily smears and tarred up grime. Prowler sniffed. They reeked, too, on top of their filth.

"We can wipe off down below."

Shaking his helm, Jazz pointed to Prowler's lip. Prowler reached for his cheek, forgetting entirely the laser slice the female android had torn into his face. He winced as his fingers touched his lip, swollen and puffy. "You're lip is cracked," Jazz said. "And m'arm is broken. We need to get some treatment." He grinned at Prowler, though he looked tired. "Prowl will slay me if we come back lookin' like this."

Prowler chuckled and shook his helm. "And you wonder where Hope learned how to hide from you guys."

Jazz's mouth dropped open as he stared at Prowler. He shook his helm, indignant, and ignored Prowler's comment entirely. "We need to head for this system." Jazz keyed in new coordinates.

"Velocitron?"

"They used to be trading partners with Cybertron. Stayed non-aligned through our war. They have systems that can help us." Jazz exhaled, leaning back in the pilots' chair. "And, they'll have a nice bar we can actually get a drink in."

"Without a snake snoring next to us?"

"Or a lizard eating someone's face off."

"That was gross."

"Yeah, that was." Jazz turned his helm to Prowler, staring hard at him. Prowler fidgeted, finally looking away. "You did fantastic," Jazz said softly. "You really were amazing. Kept a cool helm, kept your processor clocking, got us out of a real sticky situation." Jazz nodded, smiling. "You are one special mech, Prowler."

Prowler tried to smother his smile, but failed. He kept his optics on the flight controls. "Thanks," he said softly. "I was really just trying to keep up."

Jazz smiled. "Well, why don't you get us to Velocitron? Then you'll really be doing a bang-up job." Jazz shifted, getting comfortable in the pilot's seat. "I'm just gonna let my optics rest. I'll be right here if ya need me."

Prowler smirked and watched Jazz fall offline. He banked the shuttle, changing course, and kept the controls on manual. The shuttle hummed under his fingers and he played at the controls, getting a feel for the craft and for the flight systems. A smile played over his lips, unable to be squelched. His processor drifted, wandering back to Earth, and his thoughts turned to his family, to the brother he hadn't met yet, and to Hope.

Velocitron might be next up, but Prowler was looking forward to getting home.

Prowler let Jazz snore his way all through his landing. He set the shuttle down at the Northern Colony Central Landing Platform under escort from Velocitron Port Authority and then was granted a one day trader's pass for the shuttle and themselves. All the while, Jazz snored, his helm lolling to the side, mouth open.

Prowler gunned the shuttle's engine after securing the landing gear, throttling power through the hull. The shuttle compartment roared and Jazz jumped, nearly leaping out of his plating. Gasping, he squinted at the sunlight filtering through the forward flight pod, then gaped at Prowler.

"We're here," Prowler said. He smirked.

Jazz shook his helm. "Did you tell the Command and Control on the orbital platform that we were here for the purple scarpuffs? If not, you better get yourself a pistol and get ready."

Prowler froze. "What?"

"Just kidding." Jazz winked at Prowler. "Good job."

They headed out, keeping to the freighter sector nearby the docks. Aliens, more sedate and civilized, wandered about the sector. Merchants, citizens, and tourists poked in and out of trading posts, and laughter and cheers rose from open air bars.

Prowler watched groups of aliens clear a wide berth around him and Jazz. "We need to clean up."

Jazz pulled Prowler into an alley and they hosed down with a spigot hooked up for speeders and land crawlers. Jazz quickly rubbed Prowler down, scratching at the grime gouged into his back and legs. Prowler did the same, trying to spray Jazz's backplates down while keeping an optic on his forearm. Jazz was still sheltering it against his chest.

After they were clean, they wandered back out to the trading posts and patio bars. The sun was shining, warm on the concrete and metal of the planet and reflecting off the towering buildings and hulking ships lined up at the dock.

"Why didn't we come here first?" Prowler leaned his helm back, soaking up the sunshine.

Jazz chuckled. "They don't know a slagging thing about what's really going on in the quadrant." Jazz motioned to a bar, quieter than the others with an empty patio. "I'll show you."

Inside, Jazz ordered two Burning Crystals, mechanoid version, and purposely reclined at the back table on the patio. He sprawled wide, stretching his legs out, and rested his forearm on the table. When the waitress appeared with their drinks, Jazz chatted her up, lightly flirting. She flirted right back, assuring Jazz that the quadrant was safe, there were no uprisings, and Velocitron was especially lovely for guests and visitors. They loved showing tourists a good time.

Jazz was just tickled pink, he told her, and would love to check out more of the place. In particular, could she recommend a good mech-medic? A smile and a bit of nanofabric later and Jazz had the written address of a medic and the waitress' comm address.

Prowler stared at Jazz.

"It's nothing, Prowler." He shook his helm. "I would never. _Never_." He didn't smile, didn't laugh. "I can tell what people need to hear to get what they need to say out of their mouths and into my audials. She thought we were exotic. Thought we were unique. It ain't nothin' to give her fantasy a little spin." He waved the nanofabric with her comm address. "That does not mean I'm looking to contact her or have anything to do with anythin' about that." He leaned forward, looking Prowler in the optic. "I love Prowl. He's the mech for me, forever. No matter what you may see, I have never, and will never, betray that love."

Slowly, Prowler nodded. His spark, hammering in his chest, tried to slow. He inhaled, breathing deep.

"There are times when you have to pretend to be something that you're not," Jazz said softly. "It's part of being in Special Operations."

Prowler turned to Jazz. His optics burned, piercing into Jazz's. "Is that what this is about?"

Slowly, Jazz nodded. "Welcome to Special Ops, Prowler." He smiled, small but true. "I've been watching you for a while. I needed another mech in my unit. Prowl and I both agreed that you were an outstanding candidate."

"So this whole mission…" Prowler thought back to the very beginning, to the comms relay, the decryption, landing at the station. Trying to blend in. "Everything about this. It was a test?"

"Yes." Jazz sipped at his Burning Crystal, a vibrant blue drink of liquefied energy with lightning crackling across the surface. "It was."

Prowler inhaled deeply. He swirled his drink as he clenched his gears, grinding his denta. "Did you know that all of that was already out here? That all of that would happen?"

"No." Jazz leaned back, grimacing at the pain in his arm. "I thought it was like it was. Things are way different, Prowler. More dangerous. Prowl will have my plating if he gets wind of how dangerous this really was." He sighed. "I wasn't supposed to put you near any real risk."

"So, we were actually in danger?"

Jazz took another pull from his drink. "Prowler, I didn't know if we were gonna make it out of that bar, much less off that station." He drained the rest of his glass. "You were the one who saved us from the Tagnots. Three times."

"I just did what needed to be done." Prowler peered at his drink, inspecting the lightning on the surface.

"You analyzed the situation, took in all the variables, thought outside the box, and were flexible and reactive." Jazz smiled. "That's what makes you ideal for joinin' my unit."

"Will I leave Ops?"

Shaking his helm, Jazz waved for another drink. "No, you're exceptionally good there. You'll stay in Ops, and you'll report to me in secret. We'll keep your cover. No one will know that you're a part of SpecOps, except for me, you, Prowl and Prime."

"Prime sanctioned this?" Prowler boggled as Jazz nodded. Prowler shook his helm, stunned at all of the change thrust into his life. "More secrets," he finally mumbled. "I seem to be collecting them."

"Hey, the final choice is yours." Jazz thanked the waitress and didn't flirt back when she brought him his drink. She left looking disappointed, glancing over her shoulder. "You can tell me no."

Prowler shook his helm. "I want this," he said. "I want to be a part of the Autobots' future. Want to contribute. Want to do something important."

Jazz smiled slowly. "You already have done, Prowler. You made history with your sparking."

"That was my parents." Prowler picked up his glass. He clinked the edge against Jazz's, raising his drink high in a toast. "I want to make a difference for me." He brought the drink – his first ever of affective fuel – to his lips and knocked back a healthy swallow.

Jazz smothered a grin as Prowler sputtered, choking on the flaming energy burning down his throat. He coughed, wheezing, and gasped as he bent over double. "What's in that?" Prowler gagged, hoarse through his coughing.

Jazz waved at the waitress again. "I'll take a case of this to go." He winked at Prowler.

After Prowler could breathe again, Jazz and he found the mech-medic in a parts shop only a few streets over. The turtle-looking alien fussed over Jazz's torn plating, carefully cutting away the chewed guards to expose the snapped arm shaft. He braced the strut, welding the break together, then got to work on the arm guard. The mech-medic rubbed some sealant on Prowler's lip as Prowler helped sand out the roughness in Jazz's arm guard while Jazz rested, and in a few hours, they were on their way.

Jazz leaned his helm, optics offline and a smile on his face, back as they walked in the sunlight. "Ready to head home?"

* * *

><p>The comm came in the middle of the day – Jazz and Prowler were heading into the system – but their arrival would be the middle of the night. Sideswipe didn't care. Exuberant, he stayed up with Prowl, bouncing around Prowl's office as they waited for their final approach.<p>

Hope showed up around eleven pm, sliding into Prowl's office with a smile. Prowl nodded, and couldn't help his optics skating over Hope's plating, searching for paint scuffs and scratches. Hope never had any, thank Primus.

"How's Fawn?" Prowl smiled at Hope. He'd tried to give them as much space as he could.

Hope smiled. "Good. He's watching Cascade tonight."

Prowl frowned. "Where are Mirage and Hound?"

"Oh, they're there. But Fawn likes to take care of him through the night, too."

Sideswipe snorted as Prowl's doorwings arched high. "Can I borrow Fawn?" Sideswipe laughed. "I don't think I've had a full hour of recharge since Streaker came online." He and Prowl chuckled together.

Hope was silent.

Finally, just after one am, the trio headed for the hangar bay, waiting for their loved ones. The shuttle entered atmosphere and followed the beacons perfectly to the landing dock, then slowly dropped into base.

Prowl frowned. "Jazz isn't piloting," he mumbled. "He never follows the rules that well."

"Did Jazz teach Prowler how to pilot the shuttle?" Sideswipe's optics ballooned, brightening with shock. "Primus, Jazz, when I get my hands on him…" He whistled, shaking his helm.

The launch deck opened and Jazz and Prowler stepped out, each wearing identical smiles. Sideswipe squealed and ran, racing to Prowler as Prowler descended the shuttle's ramp. He grabbed Prowler and hugged him close, swinging him in his arms as Prowler rolled his optics. Sideswipe moaned at him and lightly smacked his helm. "You can't be too old for hugs!" Sideswipe cried. "You've been gone for six and a half weeks!"

Jazz chuckled as he jogged to Prowl and Hope. "Hey guys!" He pulled Hope close, squeezing tight, and paused as Hope hugged him back fiercely. "Missed you," Jazz breathed into Hope's audial.

"Missed you too," Hope whispered back. He finally let go, stepping back without meeting Jazz's gaze.

Finally, Jazz turned to Prowl. He hesitated as he caught Prowl's expression, the fear buried in Prowl's optics, hesitancy on the edges of his gaze, and a wariness that hadn't been there before. Jazz frowned as he pulled Prowl close, wrapping him up in his arms. "Prowl," he breathed. His helm nuzzled Prowl's neck as he inhaled his partner's scent. "Primus, I missed you."

Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz, squeezing hard, almost to the breaking point. "Me too," Prowl said quickly.

Hope left his parents, heading over to Prowler. He smirked as he got close, watching Sideswipe cluck over Prowler. Sideswipe was desperately trying to get Prowler to tell him about his split lip.

"It's fine, Sides," Prowler said, exasperated. "I fell, that's all."

"'You fell'? I don't believe that for a moment." Sideswipe pressed close to Prowler, thumbing at his cheek and his lip. "Your cheek is cut too!"

"Hey, you big oaf," Hope interrupted. He winked at Prowler, rescuing him. "Missed you."

Prowler grinned back, batting Sideswipe's hands away. "Yeah right," he snorted. "You and Fawn grinding frames yet?"

"Prowler!" Sideswipe, shocked, gasped aloud. He smacked the back of Prowler's helm.

Fawn winked again. "Don't you know it."

"Hope!" Sideswipe gasped, his optics about to fall out of his helm. Scandalized, his hand actually pressed against his chestplate. "Prowl is right there!"

"He knows," Hope chuckled. He looked over his shoulder and his smile faded as he watched Jazz and Prowl, their forehelms pressed together, locked in an intense conversation. Hope frowned. There had been too much tension around Prowl recently, too much nervous energy. It had only skyrocketed until Hope had bailed, unable to take it.

Sideswipe sputtered and sighed and groaned all at once. "You both are getting so old," he moaned. "I don't like you two growing up!"

Prowler and Hope rolled their optics together. "Sides…" Prowler moaned.

Sideswipe waved his complaint away. "I'm working on it," he said, trying to be brave. Still, Sideswipe's optics were too bright, and he wrapped his arm through Prowler's. "So, tell me all about this mission."

Prowler shrugged as Sideswipe led him toward the _Ark_. "Not much to tell. It was really uneventful." Prowler delivered the line he and Jazz had rehearsed on the shuttle.

Sideswipe stared at Prowler, both optic ridges sky high. "'It was really uneventful'."

"Yeah." Prowler grinned. "It was!"

Hope watched them walk away, suddenly alone next to the shuttle. Sighing, he turned back to his parents. Jazz was cupping Prowl's face as Prowl nodded and the two were lost to the rest of the world. Slowly, Hope made his way over to them, coughing as he drew close.

Jazz reached out for him, drawing Hope in, though Prowl kept his optics down. Up close, Hope saw they were white-bright and he could feel the trembles all over Prowl's frame. He frowned and reached for Prowl, squeezing his arm. Prowl pulled Hope into a hug, long and tight.

"Let's go home," Jazz finally said. "I miss my family and I want to hear about everything that happened while I was away."

Prowl and Hope shared a nervous glance, which Jazz immediately picked up on. "What happened?"

* * *

><p>Sunstreaker was waiting for Prowler and Sideswipe back at their quarters. He was rocking Streaker after another round of feeding, gently patting his sparkling on the back. Streaker burbled and coo'd and fell offline in his arms, mouth open and breathing softly.<p>

Prowler froze as he walked in. He was transfixed by Streaker, immobilized as all of his systems did a backflip. His vents shorted, shuddering in his chest, and lightning shot up his arms and legs. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and he simply stared at his brother's tiny frame curled against Sunstreaker's chestplates.

Sideswipe smiled and rubbed his back. "You were that small once."

"A long time ago." Sunstreaker smiled at Prowler. "And then you grew up. Welcome home."

Prowler shook himself from his stupor. "Wow," he muttered. Slowly, he crept forward. One hand reached out, trembling as he reached for Streaker's helm. "He's so tiny."

Streaker exhaled softly as Prowler's fingers stroked down his helm, over his back, and down his legs. Sunstreaker smiled and shifted Streaker carefully in his arms, passing him over to Prowler.

Prowler hesitated, trying to back away, and held up his hands. "No, no, I've never held a sparkling before."

"This is your brother," Sunstreaker said simply. "You won't hurt him."

Carefully, Prowler wrapped his arms around Streaker, awkwardly drawing his brother close to his chest. He cupped his helm like he'd seen Sunstreaker do, cradling his face, and brought Streaker's tiny body up to his helm. Streaker's optics flickered, onlining to peer at his brother, and Prowler froze as he met his gaze.

Streaker grinned, gurgled, and fell back offline.

Sideswipe chuckled as Prowler beamed, looking from Sideswipe to Sunstreaker with a victorious grin on his face. Sunstreaker nodded and sat down on the couch. He patted the cushions for Prowler to join him. Sideswipe perched on the table, beaming at his family.

"So," Sunstreaker began. "How'd you split your lip?"

"He says he fell," Sideswipe said, before Prowler could speak. "I totally don't believe him."

Sunstreaker grinned. Prowler wouldn't meet Sideswipe's gaze. "Did you have a good time on your mission?"

Prowler looked up, meeting Sunstreaker's warm optics. Where Sideswipe was aggressive with his care and concern, Sunstreaker was reserved. It was rare to see Sunstreaker so open, so affectionate, and Prowler basked in the moment. "Yeah," he said. "It was the best."

Sunstreaker brushed a hand down Prowler's cheek, then cupped the back of his helm. "I'm so proud of you," he said.

Even Sideswipe was silent as Prowler's spark melted and his smile burst over his face, beaming and brilliant. He turned, tucking himself against Sunstreaker as he rocked Streaker in his arms. Sideswipe's optics blazed white as he watched his mechlets, and he reached for Sunstreaker's hand, twining their fingers together.

* * *

><p>"Wow…" Jazz breathed. He cycled his optics behind his visor. "That's… a lot."<p>

Prowl, lying next to Jazz on their berth, nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. "Try living through it."

Wincing, Jazz turned on his side, facing Prowl. "I'm sorry I wasn't here," Jazz whispered. "I didn't know any of that would happen."

"I know." Prowl thumbed at Jazz's waist plating. "I… missed you. A lot. And I know Hope did too."

Hope had lingered with Jazz and Prowl in their quarters, making small talk as they asked Jazz about his mission. Finally, Jazz said he was tired and needed recharge and Hope reluctantly left them for his room. Prowl, nervous plating and jumbled wires, followed Jazz into their room and then gushed, unable to hold everything in any longer. Hope and Fawn, their making out, his decision on letting them interface. His night over at the twins, breaking down with Streaker. His panic at realizing that Hope was all grown up and soon to be leaving them. His panic that this was the end.

"I missed you more than I could stand," Jazz whispered. "I had to keep a strong front for Prowler. But, damn, am I glad that he wants in on SpecOps. He can go on longer missions from now on."

Prowl tried to smile. "Are you sure you want this?" His voice was barely audible, trembling.

"Want what?" Jazz frowned, growing still.

"Us." Prowl offlined his optics, no longer able to look at Jazz. "Now that Hope is grown, we should reevaluate what we are doing. Are we together for each other or because we're parenting? If it's been mostly about parenting Hope, then maybe we should think about what-"

Jazz interrupted Prowl's trembling ramble with a long kiss, deep and hard. "Prowl," Jazz said, now shaking on his own. "Primus, please don't talk like that, please." Jazz cupped Prowl's face in both of his hands. "If you're nervous about us then I'm failing at something. I'm doing something wrong, something to make you think I'm not all in this, all the way." Jazz exhaled, pressing his lips to Prowl's chevron. "Yeah, Hope's grown, but that's not all I'm here for, Prowl. We've got the rest of our lives together. Remember our hundred-year plan?"

Prowl swallowed and grabbed Jazz's wrist. He stroked his lines.

"We're going to find a new home, a planet of our own." Jazz whispered against Prowl's plating as he scooted close, wrapping him up in his arms. "You and I leading the 'bots through each step of the way. The moon, the search, the colonization." Jazz kissed Prowl's temple. "And when we find that home, I'm gonna build you a big house, with a big porch that we can sit out on and soak up the sun." Jazz grinned. "Hope and Fawn will probably have 100 mechlets, and Mirage will be insufferable, always butting in." Prowl snorted. "We'll drink high grade all morning and make love all afternoon." He kissed Prowl's audial. "You and me, till the end of time."

Jazz pulled back, nudging Prowl until he onlined his optics. "Isn't that what we agreed?"

Slowly, Prowl nodded. "I'm just nervous. Everything is going to be new all over again."

"We've got each other," Jazz said, firm and strong. "You're my rock, Prowl. You're my base. I don't care if the whole galaxy changes – and it has – as long as I've got you at my core."

Prowl smiled and nuzzled Jazz's hand. Then he paused, tilted his helm. "Wait, did you say the entire galaxy had changed?"

Jazz exhaled and nodded. "So, yeah, about that." He swallowed. "Do you promise not to get mad at me if I tell you all about the mission?"

Prowl blinked, long and slow. He exhaled. "I promise not to get mad at you if you tell me all about the mission, Jazz," he repeated carefully.

"Okay," Jazz scooted closer, tucking his arm under Prowl's helm as he cradled him close. "So, it went like this…."

* * *

><p>One month later, Prime called the whole crew together for the big announcement.<p>

"Autobots, it's time to man Moonbase 1," he said. "The first crew will be made up of the best of us, pioneers living on our personal frontier setting the course for the rest of our species, and for the future of the humans in the galactic quadrant. It will not be easy, but it will be rewarding. It will not be simple, but it will be momentous. It will be one of our finest hours." Prime smiled at his crew. "Please join me in congratulating Prowl and Jazz as commanders of Moonbase 1." Clapping and cheers rose from the ranks. "Prowl will command Moonbase operations while Jazz will command our space exploration missions."

More cheers, and Prime waited for them to quiet. "Prowl will be backed up at Operations by one of our finest, Prowler."

Loud clapping and whistles exploded across the Rec room. Prowler froze, shocked, and his mouth dropped open. Sideswipe went faint, weakening at the knees, and he grabbed onto Sunstreaker to steady himself as he forced his vocalizer to offline.

"Medical will be headed by First Aid and Hope together. The two medics have made fine progress under Ratchet's expert tutelage." More clapping as Hope beamed. The Protectobots loudly cheered their brother, hooting and hollering.

"Hoist and Grapple will lead our construction and fabrication teams, while Trailbreaker, Rung, and Skids will lead our development teams. The Protectobots will assist in development and construction, while Hot Spot will take the lead in survey groundwork… both on the moon, in our solar system, and interstellar." More cheers and wild applause. Hot Spot beamed as his brothers all squirmed, overjoyed and proud and nervous all at once. "Crosshairs and Skyfire round out our first rotation of permanent crew."

More clapping, though quieter as mechs realized that Skyfire was assigned to the Moonbase without Sky Lynx or Dragon. Optics shot to one another, questions in their gazes.

"Everyone will be supporting this endeavor, both on the moon and on Earth," Prime said. "Everyone's efforts and achievements together will make our mission a success." Prime smiled at his crew. "Congratulations, everyone. The station will be manned at the end of the month."

The final burst of cheering was long and sparkfelt. Hoots and hollers rose, mixed with cheers and exuberant name calling. Mechs hugged one another, congratulating their friends on their new assignments and duties.

Sideswipe hung back, his hands pressed hard over his mouth. Sunstreaker stroked his back, up and down, trying to calm his brother down. Fearing the inevitable, Prowler made his way to his parents, gearing himself for Sideswipe's reaction.

Sideswipe's static-filled optics tore into Prowler's spark. "The _moon_?" Sideswipe whispered. Prowler could barely hear him over the crowded Rec room, but he felt his parent's pain perfectly. "It's so far away."

"I'll visit," Prowler said. He bit his lip. "Prowl said that I could come back and visit often. Once a month or more." He smiled at Sunstreaker, holding Streaker. "I need to come back for Streaker."

Sideswipe nodded, not trusting his vocalizer. He grabbed Prowler and pulled him close, squeezing him tight. "So proud of you," Sideswipe gasped. "I'm trying not to break down in front of everyone."

Prowler held Sideswipe until he felt him pull back. "I'll never be gone, Sides," he said. "I'm always your mechlet."

And that was it for Sideswipe. He sobbed, breaking down into crashing electric gasps as he buried his helm in his hands. Sunstreaker steered him to the back of the room and Prowler followed, staying close to his parents. Sideswipe gripped Prowler's hand and refused to let go.

Across the Rec room, Hope craned his neck, searching for Fawn. He spotted him with his family, standing next to Mirage and Hound as they chatted with Trailbreaker. Fawn had Cascade in his arms, and Roader and Piston were headed his way with Bam Bam, Didget and Gidget.

Fawn smiled as the other sparklings arrived, all giggling grins and belly laughs. Bam Bam pressed a kiss to Cascade's helm and everyone coo'd. Hope smiled, but it was small and short as he pushed his way closer.

"Fawn!" He smiled as he caught Fawn's gaze. "You heard?"

Fawn nodded. His optics were big and bright, too bright, as he looked at Hope.

"Guess what Prowl said?" Hope didn't wait for Fawn to guess. "He said that you could come with us. Said that I could apply for quarters of my own, and that you could request an assignment up there, and that we could room together!" Hope beamed, nearly quivering with excitement thrumming through him. "He didn't want you to be forced, so Prime didn't assign you, but you'll be accepted right away if you apply. What do you think?" Hope bounded from foot to foot.

Roader and Piston were silent, staring between the two mechs. Fawn was still, too still, and he held Cascade close. "Hope," Fawn whispered. He looked down, into Cascade's optics. Swallowing, he looked up, his optics crackling with static and filled with sadness. "I can't. I'm sorry."


	5. Chapter 5

**Unforeseen Five**

* * *

><p>"Why don't you tell him you love him?" Piston glared at Roader across their table. It was evening, and Ratchet and Wheeljack were wrangling the youngest four through their weekly baths. Widget had finished first and was sitting with Roader and Piston at the table, coloring on data pads.<p>

Roader refreshed the screen for Widget, clearing his messy lines and swirls. Delighted, Widget slammed the stylus down and furiously scrawled across the pad's surface, scribbling and swirling like a painter gone awry. Sighing, Roader shook his helm. He wouldn't look at Piston. "I can't, Pist. What would I even say?"

"Hi, I'm Roader, and I'm in love with you."

"He knows who I am."

"Does he?" Piston leaned close, forcing Roader to meet his gaze. "You're pretty quiet, you know."

Roader shrugged.

Piston threw his arms up. "See, this is what I mean." He pointed at Roader, his finger aggressively close to his brother's helm. "Your problem is you never figured out that you needed to be loud." Widget shrieked, pointing at the data pad, and Roader refreshed the screen again. "There's eight of us in here. You want to be heard or seen, you gotta be loud."

Bam Bam, escaping from the washroom, crawled across the floor at top speed, an empty cube covering his helm entirely. Giggles echoed from the cube as he barreled across the floor, narrowly missing the table legs.

Roader smacked Piston's finger away. Dark optics flashed to Piston. "I don't need your help," he snapped.

"If you didn't have my help, you'd never get out of these quarters!" Piston grabbed Bam Bam and turned him around, setting him back on course for the washroom.

"That's not true!" Roader shouted. Widget stilled, looking between his brothers. Roader winced and refreshed Widget's screen again. "He's with Hope," Roader finally said softly. "There's nothing that I can do."

"He's not with Hope," Piston groaned.

"He is with Hope!"

"Hope is on the moon!" Piston snapped. "He left."

"He's coming back for a visit." Roader looked up. "This weekend."

Piston was quiet for a long moment. "So is that why you've been a moody glitch all slaggin' week? Primus, you've been impossible."

Roader frowned at Piston. "Everything's just easy for you, isn't it? You say what you want, you get what you want, you just are loud and proud and everyone better get out of your way, huh?"

"It's worked so far." Piston was unapologetic. "Maybe you should try it."

"I'm not like you." Condescension dripped from Roader's vocalizer.

"No you're not," Piston said, leaning back. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied his brother. "But you're not half bad either. And watching you hate yourself is getting old."

Roader's optics flashed. "I do not-"

"You do, slag sucker."

Roader refreshed Widget's screen again. "I don't need your help," Roader repeated, sullen. He wouldn't look at Piston.

Snorting, Piston pushed himself up. "Well, what else are you gonna do, Roader?" He stared at his brother, silent. "You gotta figure something out, bro. We're all grown up now. This is life." He gestured to their quarters. "And there is more to life than these walls."

Roader was silent.

Piston shook his helm, but startled as the doorchime sounded. He and Roader shared a look as Widget scrambled down from the table and tottered to the door. Widget slapped at the palm pad and bounced on his feet, waiting for the visitor to be revealed. From the washroom, Didget and Gidget poked their helms out, grinning.

Fawn hovered in the doorway, his face tight, optics pinched, lips drawn and flat.

"Hey Fawn." Piston threw Roader a long look and moved to the doorway. Widget waved at Fawn and turned away, through with the excitement of the visitor. Fawn was old news. He and Cascade were frequent visitors.

"Hey." Fawn heaved a sigh as he stepped inside their quarters.

"Where's Cascade?" Piston stopped next to Fawn, crossing his arms. Didget came running from the washracks and grabbed Piston's leg, burying his face in Piston's thigh. He grinned up at Fawn.

"Mirage and Hound took him back." Fawn chuckled. "They said I was stealing their sparkling."

"Want one of our bros?" Piston shook his leg at Fawn, rattling Didget. Didget laughed and clung tighter. Piston ruffled his brother's helm.

Fawn chuckled again, but his laughter died quickly. He shook his helm. "Nah, I just wanted to get out." He bounced on his feet, sighing again. "You guys want to do something?"

"Yeah." Piston threw another long look back at Roader. "Roader and I don't have anything to do. You want to play a game?" He nodded toward their TV. "Got the new Saints Row."

"Is it that the aliens attack one?"

"Yup." Piston dragged Didget with him over to the couch with Fawn. "C'mon Roader!"

Roader slowly pulled himself away from the table. Widget smiled at him and winked, and Roader just shook his helm. He had to smile at his brother, though. Come the Pit or Primus, his brothers were always there for him. Even Piston, in his way. Roader headed for the couch, catching the remote Piston heaved over his shoulder before it smacked him in his face. "Thanks, glitch," he growled.

Fawn smiled at him as he neared and Roader felt his spark flutter. He smiled back, ducked his helm, and gently sat down next to Fawn.

"What's new, Roader?" Fawn elbowed him as the screen booted up.

"I'm gonna go put Didget back on his shelf." Piston hauled himself up and grabbed Didget, flinging his brother over his shoulder upside down. Didget shrieked with glee and Piston blew a raspberry on his belly as he carted him to the mechlet bedroom. Fawn and Roader were left alone on the couch.

"Not much," Roader shrugged. He picked his avatar from the screen. "Just that project Perceptor has us on, you know?" Fawn nodded. "How are you?" Roader couldn't take his optics off of Fawn. "Excited? I mean, about this weekend? With Hope?" He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He looked away.

Fawn was silent.

Roader looked back.

"I don't want to think about it," Fawn whispered.

"What's wrong?" Roader whispered back.

"A lot of things have changed." Fawn looked down, turning his controller over. "What isn't wrong?"

Piston coughed – loudly – as he came back. He crashed back down on the other side of Fawn and grabbed his controller. "Let's get to smashing."

Fawn nodded and sat up, erasing the worried fit on his face. Roader watched him hide behind his mask and couldn't stop his spark from burning. He wished he had said something, anything, so long ago.

* * *

><p>"Hard to believe this place actually feels like home now, huh?" Prowler sat on his berth, trying to distract Hope in their shared quarters. More a dorm than anything else, the two mechlets shared a simple square room in the barely-constructed Moonbase 1 habitation wing. Twin berths were pushed to the sides of the room and two sets of shelves had been hastily bolted to the walls at the end of the berth. A chemlight hung from hooks overhead, flickering every time the base's power was pulled over to the construction crews. It was raw and unfinished – bare metal, unshorn rivets, and power cables everywhere. Power cables lying in the corridor, sparking when they overloaded, draped in bunches overhead and dangling from zip ties. Corridors with no bulkheads, just struts and easy access to the systems buried within. Rooms with no doors.<p>

The Moonbase was more a shell than an actual base. The frame had been laid for Phase One – a command center, a habitation wing, the hangar, a medbay, and a massive construction platform for expansion. And, that had really been it. The habitation wing was really just twelve square rooms, all in a row at the end of the hallway opposite the command center. The command center was a mess of wires and terminals. Nothing was covered, since they had to work on the systems every other day and tearing into bulkheads was hard work. Systems were up and down, terminals chose whether to work or not. Power cables covered everything. Prowler spent most of his day moving power cables from terminal to terminal, or tripping over them underfoot. Like the central processor, cables and transceivers branched out from the command center to every area on the base. Hardline connections were better than wireless, so far, though they still failed at a regular rate.

The medbay jutted off from the central hallway in between the habitation wing and the command center. More finished than the command center, the medbay held three berths and a working medical sub-system, separate and contained on its own power grid and generator. The manual airlock for the hangar bay was at one end of the habitation wing.

At the other end of the habitation wing - really, just the end of the simple hallway - the mechs had taken a bulldozer to the bulkheads and created a lounge. Underpowered and without any real furniture, the mechs hauled in spare magsticks to light in barrels for flame and light and scraps of busted metal as chairs. Instead of solid walls, they threw up transparent aluminum, leaving the lounge view open to the expansive, desolate moonscape and the stars beyond.

They worked hard, recharged hard, and spent day after day laboriously bringing the base online in fits and starts. Hope and First Aid divided their time between monitoring decompression prevention mods on the survey and construction crews, tweaking systems for better performance, clearing moon dust, and treating the array of injuries that living on the edge of the frontier always brought. Prowler worked with Jazz, Prowl and Trailbreaker in the Command Center. The mechs grew close, laughing and sharing in the struggles of working with barely-functioning equipment, trying to coax life and energy out of systems that refused to cooperate and cheering on each incremental victory.

The Protectobots, minus First Aid, spent most of their time outside the base with Hoist, Grapple, and Crosshairs. Hot Spot surveyed the moon in minute detail, searching for pockets of ice, buried ores, gases, and liquids, and tectonic instabilities as the rest worked together with the others on constructing their future.

It was hard, tremendously difficult, eking out a living on the frontier of their species, building a home in a hostile environment. But, each mech loved it, in their own way.

The mechs came up in small groups. Prowl, Jazz, Hope, and Prowler were first. The four landed their shuttle at the dark Moonbase, lit only by a motion-powered floodlight angling toward the hanger. Jazz popped a magstick and guided the four down the hangar's inflated gangway to the Moonbase's manual airlock. Hope and Prowler rolled the airlock back, and together they were the first mechs to board the Moonbase.

Optics wide with wonder and mouths open, the two had tiptoed through the airlock. Jazz's magstick sputtered and burned behind them, casting a blue flame glow down the habitation wing. Exposed bulkheads, bundled wires overhead and strewn on the decking, and piles of terminal circuit boards and bits of junk metal surrounded the group. Gingerly, they made their way to the command center and Prowl powered up the Moonbase for the first time. Barely a light flickered on and the power slowly faded offline after a surging try, but it was a start.

Later, the four had huddled together, sitting in a circle on the floor in Prowl and Jazz's tiny square room around a group of burning magsticks and shared a dinner of energon sticks and a bottle of high grade. Instead of picking out their own shared quarters, Hope and Prowler stayed with Prowl and Jazz and the four mechs had fallen into recharge as the magsticks had flickered down to embers.

Hope hadn't smiled since Fawn had rejected transferring to the Moonbase. Moody and sullen, most mechs had given Hope a wide berth in the weeks leading up to their departure. Fawn and Hope had initially ignored each other, then collapsed into one another, refusing to separate for air or energon, and Prowl was worried Hope would change his mind and stay on Earth. But, the day of departure came and Hope trudged on board with Prowler as his optics melted from his face.

Fawn didn't come to the launch.

Prowler was silent during the trip, typing into a data pad as Hope moped and stared out the window.

But, at the end of their first day, and as the magsticks flickered out, Hope was smiling and laughing with his family and Prowler. His optics were sparkling, glowing with barely-contained excitement, and Prowl thought Hope could power the whole base with the force of his smile alone. The rest of the crew arrived over the week and Hope took it upon himself to be the official welcome committee.

They were six weeks in to their posting and the Moonbase had transformed from a lifeless husk of barely-constructed metal into a home. The mechs laughed together, dined together, drank together, and lived together. It was life on the edge, buried in the South Pole of the moon, but it was amazing.

And now, it was time for the first visit back to Earth. Prowler and Hope were headed back for the weekend. Skyfire was taking them down, along with Trailbreaker and Rung.

No one had dared to ask Skyfire about his request to be based on the moon. But he kept talking about Dragon and how much he wanted to see him again, so everyone hoped the trip would do him – and maybe the family – some good.

"You excited?" Prowler asked, trying to prod Hope into talking. Hope was silent on his berth, staring at the non-existent ceiling and the swaying chemlight.

"I'm scared," Hope finally admitted. "We don't really talk anymore."

"You don't send comms?" Prowler sent comms back to his family nearly every other day. Sideswipe would personally come to the moon and filet him if he didn't. Plus, he liked that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker told his stories to Streaker. Streaker was too young to understand what was going on, but when he grew up, the letters would – hopefully – be a fun treasure for him to read and to learn about his brother.

"I do," Hope sighed. "I don't get much back." He shook his helm. "This just sucks so much."

"You regret it?" Prowler leaned back, trying to gauge how much Hope would actually open up this time. Prowl and Jazz had gotten nowhere, and even Prowler tried to stay away from the topic. Hope wasn't open to discussing Fawn, at all.

Hope shrugged. "I wish it didn't have to end," he whispered.

"So… you are going to end it?"

"I don't know." Hope scrubbed his face with his hands, groaning. "I hate whatever this is, whatever is going on now. But I don't want to lose everything." He slammed his fists down on the berth. "Why couldn't he just come up here?"

Prowler sighed, looking around their tiny, dimly-lit dorm. "This isn't for everyone, Hope. Look at where we are." He rapped on the bulkhead behind his helm. "That's space just on the other side. Decompression. If you aren't fast enough to save me, I'll be dead." Streetwise had already had a too-close call with a sudden decompression in his leg when a laser had sliced through one of his lines. Hope had been the medic to respond, racing out to the construction site and patching Streetwise's compression before rushing him back to the medbay. "That's… that's pretty crazy." He shook his helm. "We're out here, on the frontier, for everyone else."

"But this is incredible!" Hope wailed. He sat up, swinging his feet over the side of his berth. "Why wouldn't Fawn want to be a part of this?"

"That's for Fawn to answer." Hope flung himself back on the berth and growled. Prowler leaned up, adjusting the chemlight and plunging their dorm into darkness. Hope wasn't going to talk any longer. "We've got an early morning. Let's try and recharge?"

* * *

><p>Prowl and Jazz were there at ridiculous o'clock in the morning, seeing Prowler and Hope off with Trailbreaker, Rung, and Skyfire. Trailbreaker wasn't even fully online yet, and he fell back into recharge as soon as he was onboard. Jazz wrapped Hope up in a gigantic hug, rocking him back and forth. Prowl pressed a kiss to the center of Hope's chevron, squeezing his shoulders and beaming down at him. Hope tried to smile back, but he shuffled on board the shuttle with his helm down.<p>

"Give our best to Sides and Sunny," Jazz said to Prowler. He grinned as he looped his arms around Prowl's waist. "We'll be out for the weekend. We're takin' some time and a compression tent an' we're gonna go explore the Malapert Mountain." Malapert Mountain was near the Southern Pole of the moon, near to the Moonbase, and Jazz had been itching to explore the moon up-close. Decompression mods would work for the transport, as long as they had a compression tent for recharge and breaks.

Prowler nodded. "Will do."

"And…" Prowl watched Hope's dejected slump inside the shuttle. "Please, keep an optic on Hope? I know I shouldn't ask you, but…"

Prowler shook his helm. "I'll do what I can." He sighed, following Prowl's gaze.

"Thanks." Prowl smiled at Prowler. "Have a great time with your family."

* * *

><p>For as early in the morning as their landing was, the welcome home reception was boisterous and loud. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were near the front, Sideswipe holding Streaker as he waved Streaker's little hand at Skyfire and the landing party. Ratchet and Wheeljack were there with all of their mechlets. Roader and Piston wrangled the youngest, keeping watch on Bam Bam, Widget, Gidget, and Didget. Beats and Spectrum hung out with Clearsweep and Conch. Bluestreak and Smokescreen waited with Ironhide and Perceptor. Even Dragon and Sky Lynx were there, quiet, but present.<p>

Standing aside, Mirage and Hound waited with Fawn and Cascade. Fawn hung near his family, eyeing Skyfire as the shuttle landed and the mechs disembarked.

Roader and Piston watched Fawn, keeping an optic on their friend.

Sideswipe couldn't contain his excitement as Prowler disembarked. Squealing, Sideswipe barely held himself back from racing to Prowler's side, stopped only by Streaker relaxing in his arms. Sunstreaker arched an optic ridge to Sideswipe, smirking at his twin. Sideswipe bounded from foot to foot as Prowler grinned at them both.

Cheers and clapping rose from the crew, welcoming home the first from the Moonbase. Trailbreaker and Rung disappeared into the crowd, smiling and laughing. Skyfire smiled at his family, and Sky Lynx and Dragon both seemed to relax, uncoiling from a tension that had seized both of their frames for months. Dragon buried himself in Skyfire's arms and Sky Lynx smiled at Skyfire, long and slow.

Prowler took Streaker from Sideswipe, cradling his brother close. He grinned down at his brother as Sideswipe jumped him, hugging and inspecting his plating all in one go. Sunstreaker chuckled aloud, and the two shared a fond look at Sideswipe's expense. "We've missed you," Sunstreaker said simply as Sideswipe listed out Prowler's dents, dings, dust, and grime.

"It must be just savage up there!" Sideswipe cried. He gripped Prowler's helm in his hands. "Are you having a fantastic time?" He was grinning wildly

"The best." Prowler smiled right back.

Lingering back, Hope finally spotted Fawn with his family. Mirage and Hound had faded back, leaving Fawn standing alone, staring at Hope.

"Hey Hope!" Piston sauntered to Hope's side, dragging Didget and Widget alongside. Gidget tottered behind as Roader followed with Bam Bam in his arms. "Welcome back, wayward traveler. Haven't seen you in forever. How's things on the moon?"

Hope smiled, trying to relax around his friends. Beats and Clearsweep were walking over, waving and smiling. From the corner of his optic, Hope spotted Fawn slowly head their way. "It's great," he said.

"Full of adventure?" Piston was grinning down at Hope.

"I love it." Hope did grin that time. Unfortunately, it was also the same moment that Fawn arrived, sliding up to Roader's side silently. "Hey Fawn," Hope started. He threw Fawn a smile, desperately hoping.

Fawn swallowed and nodded. His optics briefly met Hope's, once. "Hey," he said quickly.

Roader and Piston shared a long look. Piston jerked his helm and the two brothers melted away, dragging their brothers with them. They caught Beats and Clearsweep on the way, turning them right around. The flight deck was clearing out, and as the oldest mechlets hustled the rest of their friends away, the deck was suddenly clear, empty, and utterly, completely silent.

Hope stared at Fawn. He sighed, looking down. "I guess we should talk, huh?"

Fawn wouldn't look at Hope. "So you really like it up there?"

"I do." Hope couldn't take his optics off of Fawn's profile. "It's amazing. It's… we're creating the future. I wish you would just come up and visit, just take a look. You'd love it, I know you would."

Silence. Fawn offlined his optics, shaking his helm. "You really don't know me that well, then," he said barely speaking.

"What?" Hope breathed.

"I'm not like you," Fawn whispered. "I'm not looking for that next big adventure. The next boundary to push." He finally looked up. "I like it here on earth. And I love my family. I don't want to go to the moon."

"Everyone is going to the moon," Hope said.

"At least fifty years from now. When the base is built and we all move together." Fawn shook his helm again. "You always want to push the boundaries, Hope. You're always trying to find that next frontier. You've always been like that as we were growing up." He sighed, resting his hands on his hips as his shoulders tensed. "I used to love that about you," Fawn said quietly.

Hope's optics burned. Static crawled across the surface, breaking the indigo burn. "I thought you loved me now."

"I think I used to." Fawn swallowed. He couldn't meet Hope's gaze, not any more. "I used to love watching you push and push, constantly breaking those boundaries. But, we all grew up." He shook his helm. "And I'm happy with what I am. I'm a lab assistant. On _Earth_. I love my brothers and I love my family." He finally looked up again, and Fawn's bleached optics met Hope's. "You're never happy with what you are. And you're family…" Fawn exhaled, hard.

"What about my family?" Hope bristled, suddenly surging with anger.

"Family is important to me," Fawn said. Steel laced his vocalizer. "I love my brothers and I love being an active part of their lives. I love my parents. We work together in my family and we're all successful because of that." Fawn gestured to Hope, his hand sweeping over everything that Hope was and dismissing it in one turn. "You guys have never been close and you spent your entire life trying to tear them down."

"That's not true!" Hope's doorwings flared wide. "We are very close!"

Fawn snorted. "You actively try and piss Prowl off. You're always trying to subvert them." Fawn shook his helm again. "You wouldn't even know what a close family felt like. And you'll probably never know. You're an only. Just like Dragon." Fawn laughed humorously. "Primus, they didn't even come with you, just sent you away."

Instead of pain, Hope blazed with rage. "If you wanted to tell me all about how much you don't like me and my family, you could have just sent a comm," he pushed through gritted denta.

Fawn sighed and threw his helm back. "I don't not like you," he groaned aloud. "I'm just… done." He lowered his helm, shaking it. "I'm pissed and I'm frustrated and I'm tired." Fawn finally met Hope's optics again. "We grew into very different mechs, Hope. I used to love your 'rebel without a cause' flare. Now…" He grimaced. "I want something different. And so do you."

"How do you know what I want?"

"Because you don't want to stay here with me." Fawn held his gaze. Hope didn't move. "And that's what I want. Someone here, with me, who wants what I want. Not someone chasing stars and living in a decompression box, eating rations and reattaching body parts, and who thinks that that is somehow normal!" Fawn had gotten on a tear, his vocalizer rising with each word until he was shouting. He inhaled, breathing hard.

Hope was silent. "You're right," he finally said. His doorwings trembled, vibrating against his plating. "I do want someone different. Someone who actually understands me. Someone who respects me, my choices, and my family."

Swallowing, Fawn looked down. He shook his helm. "You and Prowler should just get together already," he grunted. "You already live together." Fawn's optics were dark, lined with anger and the hint of jealously.

Hope reared back, his doorwings flaring. "Prowler?" He scoffed. "Never. Never!"

Fawn shook his helm again. He stayed silent, letting the moment grow long. Finally, he turned away.

"There was a party planned," he grunted. "The rest of the mechs are going to set up in the Rec room this evening. I won't be there." He looked over his shoulder. "So you should go."

"I don't feel like a party." Hope stood his ground. Rage, white hot, burned through his lines. Fawn had been with him and his family, had seen Prowl and him together. Had been in their quarters, hanging out with them all, more times than Hope could count. It was Prowl who had gifted them their first interface. And Fawn had the ball bearings to throw his family in the mud, to call them not close. Rage eclipsed the burgeoning spark-break, replacing his hurt with indignation. "I don't feel much like Earth," he snapped.

Fawn turned away. "You're right," he said. "We should have done this over comms. I'm sorry to have taken you from the moon for the weekend." And with that, Fawn walked off the flight deck.

Hope waited until he was gone, completely gone, before he collapsed to his knees. The sob caught in his chest exploded, bursting out of his body, and he keened as an electric wail broke from his vocalizer. Hope's optics darkened as he curled around himself, letting the pain flow, the hurt and the rage and all of the worry, erupt from his spark.

* * *

><p>Outside the hanger, Fawn struggled to breathe, struggled to walk, struggled to see. He gasped, his hand pressing to his chest, and collapsed sideways against the bulkhead. Fawn slid down, letting his own sobs out, letting out his own frustrations, his pain, his fear, and his anguish. He'd been so young, wanting so much, and Hope had been the mechlet that had pushed for everything and everyone. It was natural, oh so natural, to fall for him. Why he'd had to grow up and grow serious, Fawn didn't know. But, Hope was continuing on without him, forging new frontiers, and Fawn just didn't have it in him to follow. His life was different than Hope's.<p>

"Fawn?" Two pairs of feet slowly approached. Piston and Roader looked down, worried optics burning bright. Their brothers were gone.

Fawn shook his helm. "It's over," he breathed. He thunked his helm back against the bulkhead. "I ended it."

Piston and Roader were silent. They let Fawn sob, let him hiccup and breathe through the pain. Finally, Piston reached down and hauled Fawn up, grasping him under the arms. "Let's get out of here." He motioned for Roader to help on Fawn's other side.

Roader slid into Fawn's right, wrapping his arm around his waist. "I'm sorry," Roader breathed.

"It's for the best," Fawn whispered. "It's for the best."

* * *

><p>Hope barricaded himself in his parent's old quarters. They were kept for the family for whenever they wanted to visit, but since their move to the moon, Hope was the first and only family member back.<p>

He trashed the high grade cabinet, going through Jazz's left behind stock with too much speed. He fell offline, crashing into recharge as he collapsed on the couch. It was barely afternoon.

Midnight had come and gone by the time Hope onlined again. Groaning, he rolled off the couch with a crash. Pain flared through his body and his helm, his processor aching from the overcharge. Hope pressed his helm for the deck as he fought for breath.

A quick ping of his comms showed two alerts, both from Prowler. A check in in the afternoon and another in the evening, sounding more worried. There was nothing else.

Hope stayed on the floor with his helm pressed to the decking. He swallowed, trying to fight off another sob building in his chest. His lines thrummed, pounding throughout his body in ever-increasing waves.

He was alone. Utterly, completely alone. The darkness pounded in on him on all sides. Enveloping him, swallowing him whole. Gritting his denta, Hope tried to push himself up. His hand slipped on the edge of the couch table and he crashed down to the decking, falling face-first as a pile of high grade cubes tumbled off the table onto his legs.

Hope whimpered in the silence that followed the crash. He could feel his whimper echo through the room. Primus, he was pathetic. No one came to see him, no one was comming him. He'd broken up with Fawn, and all of their friends had scattered. Did anyone care that he wasn't at that party? Did anyone care about him at all?

Hope's palms itched. He was scratching at something, some itch just behind his helm, a feeling he had been digging for his entire life and had never reached. His optics roamed his quarters, seeing all the dark shapes and shadows of his mechlethood. So many memories in these walls. And still, he felt utterly, entirely alone. Hope curled up, drawing his knees to his chest as he pressed his cheek to the decking. Why was he so alone? Why had he been left alone? He was the one who had led everyone, had pushed the mechlets to the heights of fun and freedom. He had been the 'it' mechlet, always in the center of the mix, always in the know, always running the best race in life. He had the first apprenticeship, had set the program in motion. He had been it. If not academically the best, certainly the best by any other metric.

And now… he was overcharged, hurting, and alone, all alone, on the floor of his parent's quarters, silently sobbing in the darkness. And there was no one here for him.

Fawn's words echoed in his helm. _"You guys have never been close… you wouldn't even know what a close family felt like." _

Grunting, Hope pushed himself up. He crawled across the deck to his gear bag, dropped by the door, and rummaged through it until he found his data pad. Exhaling, Hope hesitated, but pressed the comms array and keyed in Prowl's personal comms address.

The connection was slow. It had to route through the base, out to the array, beam to the Southern Lunar Receiving station, route into the Moonbase, then locate Prowl's comm in the wireless array – if it was working – and ping him. Hope waited an agonizingly long minute for the connection to complete. Then, the comm buzzed. And buzzed again. And buzzed again.

Hope thunked his helm back against the door. Primus, it was the middle of the night, what was he doing? Prowl and Jazz were going on their first vacation in Primus knew how long, and he was coming them in the middle of the night? And for what? He disconnected and dropped his pad. Another sob built, and he couldn't force it back.

The data pad vibrated, buzzing next to his thigh. An incoming comm. Hope peered at the ident code flashing. Prowl was comming back. Hope tried to smile, but his sob was building and then crashing through him, and as he answered the comm, it was all Hope could do to stutter out a broken "Prowl?" in the midst of his sob.

"Hope!" Prowl's worried face filled the screen. He'd patched a video comm back, and quickly. "Hope, what's wrong? What happened?"

Hope tried to speak, he really did, but only hiccupping sobs broke through. He sniffed and finally managed to choke out a few words. "Fawn and I are through."

Prowl's face softened and he exhaled. "Hope… I'm so sorry." On screen, Prowl rolled from the side-lean he had been in onto his back, bringing the data pad with him. Jazz came into view, sleepy and coming online next to Prowl. Prowl nudged Jazz and Jazz looked up, seeing Hope's devastated face and his sobs.

"Hope!" Jazz reached for the screen, stroking down his mechlet's face. "Baby, I'm so sorry."

"This sucks so fragging much," Hope whispered.

"I know, baby, I know. Breakups tear you up." Jazz leaned his helm against Prowl's.

"What can we do?" Prowl's spark was breaking watching Hope. He'd do anything to take this pain away, anything.

Hope shook his helm. "I'm sorry for comming," he choked out. "I'm just being pathetic."

"No you're not." Jazz frowned, rubbing at his optics. "You are not pathetic. Far from."

"You can always comm us, anytime." Prowl hated that Hope wouldn't look at them.

"I woke you up. I'm interrupting your guys' time together." Hope was just mumbling now, grumbling as his sobs quieted.

"We've been worried about you," Prowl said simply.

"Prowl has been worried_ sick_ about you," Jazz clarified. "He is out of his plating with worry and he's been keeping his data pad right next to him in case you ever comm'd."

Hope finally smiled, tiny, and he met Prowl's gaze. "I miss you," he whispered. A fresh round of sobs began, wracking his frame. "I didn't know who else to comm. Everyone else is with their families, or hanging out together…"

"You can always comm us," Prowl said fiercely. "We are family, and we will always, always be here for you."

"I want to come home," Hope whispered. His optics offlined as he exhaled. "There's nothing here for me." Hope didn't want to be alone any longer and this single connection through the data pad was the most meaningful connection he'd had in a long while.

"No problem," Jazz said. He grinned. "We'll get you back here first thing in the morning."

Prowl had already called up a side window on his pad. Hope could see him typing furiously.

"What?" He frowned. "Skyfire is flying back in two days. Not tomorrow."

"Nope," Jazz said. "But there is a freighter making a run tomorrow morning. And we're getting you on it." Prowl nodded, still typing.

"Aren't you guys on your romantic getaway? I can't interrupt." Joy and despair warred within Hope.

"Pfffsh," Jazz waved his hand at the screen. "You aren't interrupting anything. It'd be fun to drag you out here with us. Besides, you sayin' we can't be romantic in front of you? You're all grown up, you know how it is." Jazz winked at the screen before he nuzzled the side of Prowl's face, purposely trying to weird out both Hope and Prowl.

Hope giggled despite himself, then squinted, trying not to see Jazz's glossa dip into Prowl's audial. There was a smack, then Jazz groaning, and then Prowl spoke again. "Alright, you're scheduled to ride along in the energon freighter that departs at 0600. I put a medical code on it, so if anyone asks, feel free to tell them you're needed in the medbay up here."

Smiling, Hope exhaled again, this time releasing a tiny part of that clenched fist strangling his spark. "Thanks," he breathed.

"And we are totally going to be romantic in front of you," Prowl deadpanned. He turned and grabbed Jazz's chin with one hand, pulling him close for a long, though glossa-less, kiss.

"My optics!" Hope giggled again, shaking the data pad. The kiss kept going, and Jazz put his hand over the camera on their side. "Guys! Guys! I'm still on the line! I don't want to hear anything!"

Jazz pretended to grunt, then there as a quick, "Oh baby, yeah, give it to me, uh huh," as Hope tried to drown out the noises with 'la la la.' Jazz scratched a hand down Prowl's back, earning him a nice scraping sound, and then he was pretending to overload, gasping and groaning and playing such a bad job that even Prowl started to laugh. "Oh yeah, baby," Jazz grunted dropping his hand from the camera. "You know just how to drive me wild." He crossed his hands behind his helm as he leaned back, pretending to be satiated.

Prowl gazed at his lover, shaking his helm, but spark-deep, burning fondness burst from his gaze. Hope's vents caught, seeing that moment, and he snapped a screenshot from the video feed. He'd never seen his parents so raw, so open with their love before.

"That was pretty short," Hope deadpanned. "Prowl, really?"

"Hey." Prowl grinned at the screen. "I'm under pressure here. You're on the feed, Jazz is insatiable. I do what I can." Prowl kneed Jazz in the thigh.

"Hope, baby, if Prowl is makin' love to me, it can take allllll night." Jazz winked at Hope as Prowl groaned, reaching the limit of his teasing.

"Okay, that's, like, way more than I ever, ever needed to ever know." Hope was laughing despite himself. "Will you guys be there to meet me when I land?"

Jazz nodded. "Of course. We'll leave the gear here and come get you, then come back out." What Jazz didn't say was that they'd have to leave right then to make it in time. There would be no more recharge for the parents that night. Not that they'd had much to begin with. It had been a long lovin' type of evening, and they had to clean up before getting on the way. "We'll bring you along for the rest of the camp out. We're going to summit the peak tomorrow. I think you'll love it."

Hope bit his lip, but grinned. "Thanks," he whispered. "I love you."

Jazz and Prowl smiled together. "We love you too, Hope."

He looked back across their old quarters. Empty high grade cubes stared back at him. "I, uh, drank all of your guys' high grade."

"All of it?" Jazz's mouth dropped open. Hope nodded. "Wow," Jazz said. "Well, you can pay us back from the still up here." He smiled at Hope through the comm line. "You could have called earlier, too."

"I know that now," Hope breathed. He bit his lip.

"We're together forever, baby," Jazz said. "All three of us." Next to him, Prowl was nodding, smiling. Hope nodded, but didn't trust his vocalizer. "We'll see you in a few hours," Jazz ended. He pressed a kiss to his lips and then to the screen before closing the connection.

Hope closed the comm line and set down his tablet. Six am. He'd be leaving in four hours. And he'd never be coming back.

* * *

><p>The weekend was too short and too quick for Prowler. Sideswipe spent the entire weekend hovering, hanging onto every word in Prowler's stories. He was exhilarated, his optics gleaming, and filled with excitement and joy for his mechlet. Sideswipe pretended to cluck over his dents and his dustiness, making a big show out of wanting to bathe Prowler like he was a sparkling, but his optics were full of warmth and pride. Sunstreaker was fascinated by the integrated missions the three were working on – much of Sideswipe's and Sunstreaker's projects were related, either directly or obliquely, to their work on the Moonbase. The three shared stories of the weeks they had been apart, Prowler relating the achingly slow and primitive start up to the Moonbase, and the twins filling him in on the goings on at the <em>Ark<em>, the gossip and the new sparklings.

Prowler watched Sunstreaker take care of Streaker for the first day, then asked to help. Sunstreaker was more than happy to pass Streaker off to Prowler, and from that moment on, Prowler kept Streaker in his arms. Sideswipe showed Prowler how to feed Streaker from the bottles, then how to settle his tanks. Prowler rocked Streaker to recharge and held him still when Streaker onlined later. Streaker's warm optics stared at Prowler and he smiled at his brother as he smacked him in the face with one of his fists.

The three mechs made an appearance at the welcome home party. Prowler searched for Hope, but he couldn't find him or Fawn. _Maybe they're making up_, Prowler thought. Roader and Piston were hanging out with the rest of the mechlets in their gaggle, and Prowler headed over with Streaker in arms. Bam Bam was curious about the newest sparkling – he was now the oldest sparkling in the fourth boom – and peered down at Streaker unabashedly. Widget, Didget, and Gidget ran amok, chasing each other through legs and tables. It was loud, boisterous, and filled with laughter.

The evening descended into an impromptu Open Mic night. Hound sang one of his love songs to Mirage, the one Mirage called the "Fawn-making song." Mirage responded with a new track he'd just finished. Mechs clapped and cheered, and Piston stared at the mic with a thoughtful expression on his face. Roader elbowed Piston, gesturing him forward, but Piston, unnaturally shy, kept to his seat.

Remembering something Jazz had said, Prowler wound his way to Sideswipe. Causally, he leaned in. "Hey, Jazz said I should ask you about your Carrie Underwood covers."

Sideswipe's optics blazed as Sunstreaker chuckled. The twins had been talking to Ironhide, and the old mech laughed until he coughed, hacking on his vents. Sideswipe muttered under his breath, something about slaying Jazz and framing his plating, but, Sideswipe marched up to the mic and queued up the song.

Sideswipe wasn't one to create his own songs, but he covered the slag out of female power ballads, Jazz had said. Carrie Underwood's "Cowboy Casanova" had been an all–time favorite, especially Sideswipe's first high-grade-fueled dancing rendition of it. He repeated that in all of its glory, sashaying his hips, kicking his legs, and dancing around Sunstreaker for the chorus. Sunstreaker pulled Sideswipe into his lap, smirking at his brother, and the two shared a kiss in the middle of the chorus. Cheers rose amid laughs and Prowler himself laughed out loud at his parents.

Bouncing Streaker in his arms, Prowler inhaled deeply. Life was good. His family was good. The_ Ark_ was good. The darkness lingering at his processor lifted. Maybe Jazz was right. Maybe everything was okay. He nuzzled his brother close, breathing in his sparkling scent, and pressed a kiss to his helm. All around him, the _Ark_ laughed and cheered and the party rolled on through the night. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker danced together to one of Blaster's slow songs and Sideswipe led a conga line later on, shaking his hips and trying to gyrate his shoulders like he'd seen the humans do. Sunstreaker burst out laughing at his brother, which was so rare an occurrence that the entire evening, and all of the laughs sent his way, made everything worthwhile for Sideswipe. They held each other, Sunstreaker behind Sideswipe, wrapping his arms around his brother, resting his helm on his shoulder, and swayed to the beat of the music while Prowler rocked their recharging sparkling into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

><p>Prowler found out Hope had left the next morning. Hope had sent a short note. <em>Going back. I'm fine. See you later.<em>

Prowler knew that Hope wasn't fine, but if he was headed back early, then at least he'd be with his family. Prowler sent back a shortwave comm. _Okay. Sorry you left. See you when I get back._

The weekend sped by in a blur. The twins and their mechlets went to the beach, and Sideswipe chased waves with Streaker in his arms. Sunstreaker passed Streaker to Prowler and then bodily threw Sideswipe into the waves. Sideswipe sputtered and the two wrestled in the waves for an hour, calling each other names, slapping at each other's plating and tossing the other into the surf. In the end, they lounged on the sand in the sun, letting the salt water dry on their plating until they were itchy and Prowler laughed at the muck on their frames.

The last morning was slow, just the family lounging in their quarters. Prowler laid on the floor and let Streaker play on his chest, banging blocks and burying his face in Prowler's chestplate. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe sat nearby, Sideswipe melting at the sight and Sunstreaker glowing with pride for his mechlets. Streaker fell into recharge on top of Prowler on the couch and Prowler followed only minutes later. Sunstreaker pulled out a sketchpad and drew the two mechlets while Sideswipe perched nearby.

"Could you have ever imagined this?" Sideswipe whispered. "Such a perfect life?"

Sunstreaker grunted. "I thought being with you was the height of perfection." He turned to his brother. Sideswipe was glowing, his optics bright, and smiling. "I never imagined that those two could remake everything."

Swallowing, Sideswipe pushed back his choking emotions. He was already teased for barely being able to let go of Prowler. No need to add to his overly emotional reputation. "Sometimes I think this is a dream," he admitted. "That I'm actually in a coma in the medbay and I made this all up in my processor."

Sunstreaker frowned at his brother.

"I mean, this is just so, _so_ perfect. You, them…" Sideswipe smiled, inhaling. "I can't believe that I deserve this much happiness."

Sunstreaker set down his sketch pad and crossed to Sideswipe's side. He grasped his brother's hand in his, drawing it to his lips. "You deserve the galaxy," Sunstreaker breathed. "You brought me back to life. You gave me a real reason for living." He pressed kisses against Sideswipe's fingers, each of his knuckles. "You deserve more than I will ever be able to give you."

Sideswipe exhaled, cupping his brother's face. "Oh Sunny," he breathed. "I love you too."

Prowler let his one optic power down as his parent's kissed, long and sweet. A smile teased over his lips. If he knew anything about what love looked it, it was because of his parents.

* * *

><p>Hope's weekend with Prowl and Jazz went great, but not great enough to erase the hole that Fawn's rejection had left. The three had summited the mountain, and Jazz had cajoled the three into taking a 'selfie' with him to commemorate the moment. The first picture was stilted and formal, Hope and Prowl both looking uncomfortable. Then, Jazz turned Prowl's chin and pressed a long kiss to his lips, surprising him on the second picture. Hope looked back, spying his parents kissing above him, and rolled his optics. That was the picture Jazz kept and framed.<p>

The three spent the night together in Jazz and Prowl's quarters. Hope recharged on a spare charge mat, not willing to be alone just yet. Prowl and Jazz set up another magstick fire and told Hope stories from Cybertron, from back before the war and of a world Hope had never known. Ever the adventurer, Hope drank in the stories, soaking up each new tale with wonder and excitement.

Prowler returned, stopping by to check in on Hope. The four headed for the lounge, eating their rations together and trying to relax. Prowler was evasive about the weekend, talking about Streaker and the twins only. He hadn't seen Fawn once, not since the hangar in the morning, and he didn't go seeking him out either.

Jazz and Prowl retired early, heading back to their quarters and leaving Prowler and Hope with two cubes of high-grade. The lounge wasn't empty. Other mechs from the Moonbase were relaxing, some picking dust out of joints, others letting the high grade lull them into a half-power down under the stars.

Prowler's plating tickled. He looked over his shoulder. Yep, he was still looking at him. He'd caught this mech watching him for weeks. Rolling his neck, Prowler turned back to Hope.

Hope was diving deep into his misery again. He downed the rest of his high-grade. "I don't understand," Hope whispered. "We used to be on the same wavelength." He turned burning optics toward Prowler. "Why did it have to change?"

Prowler shrugged. "Dunno," he said. His plating tickled again. "Sometimes things change."

Hope had already had a cube of high-grade with his rations, and the second cube was supposed to be nursed, not downed in one shot. Prowler saw the beginnings of an overcharge in Hope's frame, in the lines scratching over his optics. "Let's get you back to quarters." Prowler reached for Hope's hand.

Hope missed his hand as he stood and careened into Prowler's side. "Whoa!" Prowler wrapped his arms around Hope's frame, holding him steady for a moment. "You good?"

Hope nodded, pressing his face into Prowler's chest. He inhaled, offlining his optics. Slowly, he pushed back, still gripping Prowler on the shoulder. "I'm good."

Together they set off down the corridor, heading halfway down to their quarters. Hope faltered once, stumbling, but Prowler grabbed him before he fell. Hope was unusually quiet. On high-grade, Hope was usually a chatterbox, a total and complete flirt. Prowler eyed Hope sidelong, suspicious, but let him be.

Finally they reached their quarters. Prowler rolled the manual lock and slid the doors open. They were using manual power for their basics, keeping the rest of the power shunted to the core. He guided Hope in, steering him toward his berth. Hope plopped down, limp and dejected, his doorwings flat and low.

"Prowler?" Hope's voice was low, soft. "Would you stay with me?" He scooted over and patted his berth.

Prowler reared back. His jaw dropped open. Hope wasn't looking up, wouldn't look at him.

"Hope…" He sighed. "That's not a good idea."

"I don't want to be alone," Hope whispered. He finally looked up. His optics were white, overcharged and over-emotional.

"I'm not the one you want," Prowler said. He guided Hope down, lying him down on the berth. Hope's optics offlined and he sniffed, rolling his helm away from Prowler.

"M'sorry," Hope mumbled. "I'm all messed up."

Prowler patted his shoulder. "You're going to be fine," he said. "Fawn's a dumbass. You're the second best mechlet there is."

Hope rolled back to Prowler. "Second best?"

Prowler winked. "After me." Grinning, he let Hope smack his thigh. Prowler took Hope's hand in his and brought it to his chestplates as he leaned down. Hope's optics went wide. "We're brothers, Hope," Prowler said. "Always and forever." He nodded. "Okay?"

Hope finally smiled and nodded. He pressed on Prowler's plating, over his spark. "Yeah," he whispered back. "I like having you for a brother."

Prowler smiled and pressed a kiss to Hope's forehelm. "Get some recharge. You'll be out as soon as you cycle." He could see Hope's power falling, see the pending shut down. Hope nodded, rolled over, and was out.

Smiling, Prowler adjusted the chemlight to the lowest setting, then headed back to the hallway. He locked Hope back in their quarters, and, taking a deep breath, walked back to the lounge.

A few mechs had left. Only three were still there. Prowler searched, scanning the room… Yep. There he was. And he looked up, meeting Prowler's gaze.

Prowler didn't look away.

The mech smiled slowly and chuckled, looking down, shaking his helm. Prowler strode across the lounge, heading for his side. He stopped too-close, pressing his plating against the other. "You've been watching me," Prowler said simply.

"I watch a lot o' mechs," he said. He grinned, not looking at Prowler, and knocked back his high grade. He set down the cube, empty.

"I think you want something from me." Prowler stared at his profile. The mech wouldn't look at him.

"What, like what your friend got over there?" The mech shook his helm. "No thanks, I'm up t' my optics in sparkbreak already. No room for emotions, mechlet."

"I'm not a mechlet," Prowler said. He leaned in close. "And I didn't say anything about emotions."

Slowly, the mech turned, eyeing Prowler. His optics narrowed. "You offerin' something?"

"No emotions. No strings. No obligations." Prowler's spark was hammering, but he forced his processor to remain calm.

"Jus' for fun?" The mech was almost there. He was interested, but slag if he was going to endure any more emotional fall out.

"Just for fun," Prowler clarified. "Call it stress relief."

The mech threw his helm back and laughed. "A'right, you convinced me," he said, his voice turning to a growl. "Meet me in my quarters. End of the hall. Make sure no one sees you." And with that, he stood and walked out, not looking back.

Prowler waited, listening to the sounds of the other mechs quiet down in the lounge. Hot Spot was powered down, his optics offline, letting the starlight wash over him. The other two were arguing good naturedly about the construction progress. Prowler waited, counting the seconds, until he was sure he could get out without being seen. He pushed away from the stool he'd perched on and slipped out, rolling his neck and stretching.

No one cared about him leaving.

He slipped past Jazz and Prowl's quarters, going silent, and then to the end of the hall. His door was cracked open, unlocked, and Prowler slipped inside easily, silently.

He was already reclining on his berth. "Thought you might get weak circuits."

Prowler locked the door behind him. He shook his helm. "No." Slowly, he crossed the room, standing over the mech.

He grinned up at Prowler. "Jus' do me a favor, 'kay? Keep this to yourself? Don' need your parents coming up here an' skinnin' me alive." He snorted. "Or anyone else. You hear?"

Prowler smirked. "I'm quite adept at keeping secrets," he purred. He leaned down, sitting on the edge of the berth and cupped the mech's helm in his hand. "Are you going to kiss me or not?"

"Make sure t' offline your vocalizer for when you wanna scream," the mech growled. He grabbed Prowler's chestplate and pulled, dragging him close. Their lips met with a crash, bodies sliding together, and Prowler climbed onto the berth just in time for the mech to flip them, rolling on top of Prowler. He smirked at Prowler as Prowler threw his helm back and hooked one leg around his hips. "Ya ready?"

"Get on with it."

* * *

><p>The years tumbled forward.<p>

Hope turned his attentions toward his work, burying himself in the medbay. He was the medic of choice when there was an accident on the construction crew. First Aid was the king of specialized surgeries and repairs, but Hope was equally adept at emergency trauma. He'd taken over for First Aid when Blades had crashed on the moon, experiencing decompression and crash injuries in one go. First Aid had been too crushed with emotion from his brother and Hope had taken over, saving Blades' life. First Aid had never been more grateful in his life.

The Protectobots slowly brought Hope into their fold. First Aid started spending time with Hope in the lounge socially, aside from the mentor/student relationship they had. Blades, after his recovery, joined them, then Groove, and finally, Streetwise. Streetwise never totally warmed up to Hope, insisting on calling him mechlet, even as the years turned over and over.

The Moonbase grew. Mechs arrived, augmenting the crew as systems stabilized and the frame expanded. A new habitation wing was created. A new Ops center. A real bar and lounge. A galley. The station became truly habitable, roomy, and enjoyable.

Ironhide arrived first, joining the expansion crew. Wheeljack and Perceptor shared rotations, but never stayed long. They remained on Earth with their families. Drift arrived and stayed with Crosshairs this time. Their on again, off again relationship settled into on forever, or as long as they could stand each other. Sky Dive and Silverbolt joined the growing crew. Cliffjumper, Gears, and Windcharger. Dragon visited more often.

Prowler continued working with Prowl and Jazz at Ops. He slipped out with Jazz for private training, learning sharp shooting, hacking, close quarters combat, and infiltration. He role played scenarios with Jazz, taking on different personas for different missions. Prowl challenged him on the range. When Prowler finally beat Prowl, they three shared a cube of high grade and kept the victory entirely to themselves. Jazz kicked Prowler's aft daily until Prowler was able to hold his own with the combatives. Jazz healed Prowler's scrapes, scuffs, and tears personally before each session ended. Not a single mech was the wiser about Prowler's expanded role.

Quarters expanded. Hope and Prowler moved out of shared quarters. They were mechs, full grown, holding full time duties, and they owned their own quarters. Prowler's had a porthole and a double berth, a private washrack, and a desk. Hope's, closer to the medbay, had a double berth, fully integrated shelves, and a washrack. He wasn't one for bringing work home.

On Earth, the sparklings grew. Prowler visited as often as he could. That faded over time.

Eventually, Prowler stopped visiting all together.

Instead, Prowler continued to send letters to his family, and eventually to Streaker personally. The letters were the brother's deepest connection, a bond across the stars.

Prowler waited in agony for each letter from Streaker, counting the days until he received one.

So did Streaker.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Streaker, age 6<strong>_

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

Hi Prowler!

Sides and Sunny said I could write to you on my own. I wanted to tell you that I had a good time in school today. We made rockets and mine went very far. You might have seen it from the moon! I miss you and hope you are having fun on the moon. I look up at you every night.

Love, Streaker

**To: Streaker**

**From: Prowler**

Streaker,

Wow! That sounds like a lot of fun. I remember building rockets with Wheeljack and Perceptor. It was a lot of fun. Mine didn't go that far, though. I remember Hope messed his up on purpose, and it went back into the _Ark_ and all down the hallways, shrieking and whistling. He thought it was hilarious. He was grounded, though. I'm glad yours went well and that you didn't get grounded, more importantly.

I look down at the Earth every night, too. I think of all three of you and send you all of my love.

Love, Prowler

* * *

><p><em><strong>Streaker, age 9<strong>_

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

Prowler,

I have a big favor to ask you. I have a school assignment due and we have to write essays on the most interesting person we know. Can I please write about you? Pretty please? I have questions I need to ask you and you can help me write them all down. I can send you the questions over messages, or maybe we could set up a comm call? It's been a while since you were able to talk to us.

Love forever,

Streaker

**To: Streaker**

**From: Prowler**

Dear Streaker,

Of course you can interview me! Wow, I'm honored, in fact. You think I'm the most interesting person you know? I'm just a boring ops officer on the moon.

How about you interview me when I come down to Earth next weekend? Does that work with the deadline?

Love, Prowler

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

You're coming to Earth!? YAY! That totally works. I'm so happy!

Love forever, Streaker

**To: Hope**

**From: Fawn**

Dear Hope,

Long time no speak. I apologize for all the long years without communicating. That wasn't right. We're so few in number, and our group of mechlets should never have been torn apart by what happened to us. I am deeply sorry for what I did to you, what I said to you, and for what happened between us.

I read about what happened on the moon, with Blades. You're a hero. Everyone thinks so, everyone says so. I know so. I know that you're a hero, and you always have been. You've always been the one to sacrifice for anyone else. You were always on the frontier, and I can think of no better place for you than on the moon. I hope you're living your dream. I really do.

I am sorry for how we ended. Please know that I care deeply for you still, and I want the best for you.

With all of my affection,

Fawn

**To: Fawn**

**From: Hope**

Dear Fawn,

Thanks. I appreciate the compliment. I was just doing my job with Blades. I'm glad he's alive. It was a very scary situation.

I am happy on the moon. I belong here, with my family. I've devoted myself to my work over the years. Prowl and I are more alike than ever it seems. All of the new frontiers we're expanding are incredible. Interstellar trade has just started up. Can you believe that? We're trading with aliens. It's amazing.

I heard that you and Roader are dating now. I hope that you two are very happy together.

Sincerely,

Hope

**To: Jazz**

**From: Prowler**

Trading mission was a success. Packer remains delighted. The politics of the quadrant remain shaky. The mystery mechanoids attacked another system. No word of Decepticons though.

**To: Prowler**

**From: Jazz**

Great, thanks mech. You're doing awesome with these deep space missions. It's a crazy place out there, huh? Still tryin' to figure it all out. Go enjoy yourself with your family. You deserve it.

**To: Prowl, Jazz, Prowler, Optimus Prime**

**From: Hot Spot**

Sirs, initial survey expeditions of the solar system are complete. Working with the humans, we're slated to begin mining operations and extractions on thirteen grid locations within the next two years. We'll have full operations up within five years.

In the next couple of years, as Phase Two begins, I plan on starting interstellar survey operations, in conjunction with Jazz and Prowler's deep space operational data. I'll review current data and begin preliminary projections.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Streaker, age 13<strong>_

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

Hey, where have you been? It's been a while since you comm'd….

**To: Streaker**

**From: Prowler**

Sorry, I was on a mission in deep space. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing. I didn't have time to tell you about it before hand. I'm back now, though. Was thinking about coming down for the weekend. What are you guys up to?

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

Dude, I love when you come down! We had the best weekend! I wish you were here all the time. I love staying up late with you and listening to your stories. You're so awesome, Prowler. Thank you for being my brother.

**To: Groove, Streetwise, Blades, First Aid**

**From: Hot Spot**

Our slingball team is in the championships. First Aid is out, though. He won't be playing any more and Blades is down on medical restriction. We need a filler. Any thoughts?

**To: Hot Spot, Streetwise, Blades, Groove**

**From: First Aid**

How about Hope? His team didn't make it, but he's a good player.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Streaker, age 15<strong>_

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

… And then, Bam Bam set off the detonation charge and paint went EVERYWHERE! You should have seen the looks on everyone's faces! It was awesome!

We're cleaning the Rec room for the next six weeks, though. Sunny and Sides were pissed! But, I heard someone say that it was just like old times, and it was just like what Sides' used to do. Guess I take after him after all, huh?

When are you coming down again? It's been ages. I miss you. I miss staying up late with you and listening to your stories. Please come back and visit?

**To: Streaker**

**From: Prowler**

Sorry. I've been pretty busy. I'll try and come down soon.

Yes, you sound like Sideswipe. I'm told I'm like Sunstreaker, so I guess we take after our own?

**From: CMO Ratchet**

**To: First Aid, Hope, Optimus Prime, Wheeljack, Perceptor, Skyfire**

All –

Phase Two of the Moonbase has commenced. The medical mission in phase two is the research, design, and transformation of a selected group of mechs from single transformers into triple changers. The triple change needs to incorporate a space-borne flight mode into a mechs' transformation sequence. This will be the beginning of our space fleet. In conjunction with these designs, the humans are constructing a space fleet of their own. We will fly tandem mission in Phase Three, for both the protection of Earth and for offensive projection of power.

Right now, though, research and design are our missions. Hope, you are the best researcher on the medical staff. (I know, I laugh too.) I'd like you to take the lead on this project. You may requisition whatever materials or resources you need. Perceptor and Wheeljack are ready to assist you, as is Skyfire.

We expect research and design to take up to five years. Implementation will take the next three.

Good luck.

**To: Ratchet**

**From: Hope**

Ha Ha Ha.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Streaker, age 16<strong>_

**To: Streaker UNSENT**

**From: Prowler**

**Status: UNSENT**

Streaker,

I know you're mad at me. I know I've hurt your feelings. I'm so sorry. I wish I could tell you about what's going on. I wish I could open up to you. I can't. I can't ever tell anyone. It hurts me so bad to keep you at this distance. You're my brother, for Primus' sake. I wish things were so different in the universe. Some days I wish I never had been sparked.

**From: Streaker**

**To: Prowler**

Hey again. It's me. I know you probably won't respond to this letter either, but I can't stop, you know? You're my bro. Let me tell you about the current gossip on the _Ark_…

**To: Streaker**

**From: Prowler**

I'm coming down for a visit.

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

I'm really glad you came down, bro. I've missed you. Really missed you. It's been hard growing up in your shadow without you around. You're like some kind of idol that everyone looks up to around here. I can never measure up. I just try my best, but that's never going to anything close to you.

Why aren't we close anymore, Prowler? Why won't you spend the night with me anymore? Why don't you tell me stories like you used to? We'd laugh all night long. Now you're quiet, more moody that Sunny. Please, tell me what's going on? Did I do something?

**To: Jazz, Prowl, Prowler, Optimus Prime**

**From: Hot Spot**

Sirs, interstellar survey operations are proceeding well. Phase one has concluded. We've mapped boundaries for exploration using the data Jazz and Prowler supplied. No-Go areas have been delineated, as well as acceptable systems for emergency stop-offs and trades.

I am ready to begin long-range survey and exploration at your command. I predict the first survey mission will take three months. One month to reach the projected planet, one month to scout, and one month to return. I see no need for a large crew for these early surveys. I am happy to go by myself. With the comms protocols we've established, and the relay systems, I should be fine.

**To: Prowler**

**From: Prowl**

Hey Prowler,

You've been working a lot. Why don't you take a break?

Also, are you going to be on our team for the slingball league this year? I think we might lose Hope to the Protectobots.

**To: Roader, Fawn**

**From: Hope**

Congratulations on your guys' sparkling. I'm sure he'll be just as amazing as his parents.

**To: Prowler**

**From: Hope**

I need to get wasted, STAT. High grade and the lounge after our shift?

* * *

><p><em><strong>Streaker, age 17<strong>_

**To Streaker**

**From: Prowler**

… You're perfect just the way you are, Streaker. If you don't want to pursue an apprenticeship, then that's your choice. I know Sunstreaker would never pressure you into something you don't want to do. Sideswipe might bluster a bit, but he only wants the best for us. He wants us to be happy. If joining up in the ranks isn't what you want, then that's that. We just need to find out what you do want. It doesn't make you any less of a mech, either. Don't listen to that slag.

What do you like?

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

Primus, you're the best. I was so scared telling you that I didn't want to join up in the ranks. Everyone keeps asking me what I'm going to do, how I'm going to follow my older bro. You're like a God, you know that? It's pretty freaking crazy.

Yeah, Sunny was supportive. He said it's my choice what I want and frag anyone else. Sides was more panicky about it, but he's come around.

What do I like? I love art. I guess I get that from Sunny. We go out and sketch together, or paint. I started sculpting recently. Sunny doesn't like that so much. Complains about the grime in his hands. Sideswipe can't even draw a circle. He's pathetic, but he comes with us and we have a good time. Can you draw?

**To: Streaker**

**From: Prowler**

Sadly, Sideswipe and I are blessed with the same art skills. None.

If you want to pursue artistic endeavors, then go for it.

**To: Hope**

**From: Prowler**

I need a drink. Badly.

**To: Prowler**

**From: Hope**

You too, huh? Meet you at the usual after shift.

**To: Blades, Streetwise, Groove, First Aid, Hope**

**From: Hot Spot**

It's been hard to continue in the slingball league while I've been out on long range missions. Hope has been an amazing addition to our team as an alternate. How about we make me the alternate and Hope the lead?

**To: Hot Spot, Blades, Streetwise, Groove, First Aid**

**From: Hope**

I'll only play when you're not in system, Hot Spot. You're a damn good player yourself.

**To: Hope**

**From: Hot Spot**

Don't sell yourself short. You're great. Just like Prowl.

**To: Hot Spot**

**From: Hope**

Thanks.

**To: Prowler**

**From: Hope**

Drinks? Lots of them?

**To: Hope**

**From: Prowler**

YES

* * *

><p><em><strong>Streaker, age 19<strong>_

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

Another year, another letter. Happy emergence day, bro. Can't believe you're 36. Been a while since we talked, or wrote… Again. I know it's super busy up there. I feel like slag bothering you all the time. I'm sorry.

Art stuff is going well. Sold a few pieces. I'm not hurting for money. At least mechs have stopped complaining about me being a freeloader.

I don't know though… I'm feeling a bit bored. Guess I'm just in a funk, that's all.

Oh, hey. Bam Bam asked me out on a date. He was kinda cute when he did, too. He takes after Wheeljack a whole bunch. He was flustered and nervous and cute.

**To: Streaker**

**From: Prowler**

Did you say yes? Are you and Bam Bam dating?

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

Wow, that's what gets you to respond?

Nah, I said I'd rather be friends. He's cool and all. But not my favorite of his brothers.

**To: Hope**

**From: Prowler**

Drinks needed!

**To: Streaker UNSENT**

**From Prowler**

**Status: UNSENT**

I'm drunk. Overcharged. Whatever the term is. Humans are everywhere now. I've never been around so many. Learning so many new words, too. It's crazy.

Primus above, I miss you! Why couldn't you have joined the ranks? I could have had you stationed up here with me. It would have been better. I would have been better. I'm happy you're happy, but I'm fragging miserable. You're so far away. Your comms aren't enough. Hearing your voice is torture. Reading your letters is agonizing. I wish-

* * *

><p><em><strong>Streaker, age 20<strong>_

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

… And I just don't know what to do. You've always been my best friend and my best advice giver, even when you have disappeared for forever. Please, what do you think I should do? I'm going out of my plating down here. I thought I wanted to be an artist, but I'm bored. There's not a lot of challenge here. Maybe I'm too good? That's pretty egotistical, though. I'm not like Sunny. He tells me I'm a master, but I don't know.

All I know is that I'm bored. I need something different. Maybe I should reconsider joining the ranks? What would I do? How could I even join up? I don't even know what I like. I barely completed school. Perceptor thought I was a giant failure.

Primus, I'm such a mess. Sorry you have such a lame mech as your brother.

**To: Streaker**

**From: Prowler**

You are not lame. You are amazing and I have always been proud of you. I'm crazy proud of you for following your spark. I never had that chance. My path was laid out for me and I was told to walk it. I had to be the best, follow all the rules. I was the first mechlet. I had to set the example for everyone. It sucked slag. You got to be yourself and I cannot tell you how proud I am of you for that.

If you want to make a change, that works too. We can figure out how to get you in the ranks, if that's what you want.

How about you come up to the Moonbase for a while? Stay with me. Maybe the change of scenery will spur your creativity? Or maybe you'll decide that there's something here that you want to do. Hope's been working on a project and he's just about to move to the final stage. I can't write about it, but I can tell you when you get here. What do you think?

**To: Prowler**

**From: Streaker**

I'm all over that! I'll be up in two weeks. I can't wait!

**To: Hope**

**From: Prowler**

I need to get trashed.

**To: Prowler**

**From: Hope**

Me too.

* * *

><p><em>I am behind on responding to reviews and PMs. I will respond to everything very soon (tomorrow or the day after). Wanted to get this up and out of the queue, though. Hope you enjoy it! The story takes a turn...<em>

_In my head, I've always heard Randy Houser's Runnin' Out of Moonlight as Hound and Mirage's "Fawn-makin' song." At you tube - watch?v=4BA_DvjgZ-A_

_Mirage has a list of filthy, nasty songs that he sings, but his recent one is Beyonce's "Dance For You," sung for Hound. at you tube - watch?v=PGc9n6BiWXA_

_And, especially for someone, two of Hound's other songs are Gary Allan's "Man of Me" and "The One," both for Mirage._

_I realize these are modern-day songs. I sometimes think of them with Cybertronian words changed out, and other times I just roll with the play on reality & fiction. Thought it might be fun to share their 's_oundtra_cks.' There are lists of songs that each mech in the story has. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Unforeseen Six**

* * *

><p><em>First, I want to apologize. It was not my intention to portray Hope and Prowler as alcoholics. I was trying to show "stress moments" across the two decades that Hope and Prowler were aging and growing. They're not intended to be alcoholics. I am not saying that Prowler might not make a crappy decision under the influence, but it is not because he's an alcoholic. <em>

_The moments they chose to drank reveal stress points in their life. Prowler's last stress point is fairly obvious. Hope's last stress point will be revealed right now. :)_

_Second, I have a weak spot for TF4, the Bayverse movie. I loved it, and it's a totally guilty pleasure of mine. I loved that Crosshairs and Drift, and they *maaaayyyy* have wound their way in here..._

* * *

><p>Hope and Prowler sat side by side in the Moonbase lounge, right at the bar. Behind them, the combined galley and lounge was full of boisterous mechs, laughing and talking with their friends and colleagues. It was the place to be after shift, complete with high grade and actual prepared energon meals. It was hard to beat, and the mechs flocked there in droves.<p>

Hope exhaled as he swirled his high grade. "You think we'll always be alone?"

Prowler frowned. He stared at Hope. "You're in a mood," he grumbled. "What's gotten you talking about relationships all of a sudden?"

Shrugging, Hope set down his high grade column. He passed his drink from hand to hand, sliding it on the bar top. "I just get lonely sometimes, you know?"

"So go find someone." Prowler knocked back his high grade, downing half the glass in one swallow.

"You make it sound so easy." Hope snorted.

"When have you ever shied away from something?" Prowler motioned for a refill. The barmech, someone he wasn't overly familiar with, nodded.

"Who am I going to even try and be with?" Hope rounded on Prowler. "All of the mechs our age are partnered up. Even the mechs under us, the G3'rs, are partnering up. Am I supposed to look at the G4s?" Hope snorted. "Streaker?"

Prowler's optics flashed, turning dark. He snapped his helm toward Hope. "Don't even joke about that," he growled.

"Exactly." Hope shook his helm and turned back to the bar.

"There isn't anyone that you like? What about the G1's?" Prowler took a pull from the fresh column of high grade the barmech slid to him.

"The G1s? Ha!" Hope laughed out loud, tilting his helm back. "Like they ever look at us as anything other than mechlets."

"Some don't."

"Most do." Hope frowned as Prowler shook his helm. "What are you trying to say?"

Prowler flashed an annoyed glance Hope's way. "I'm just saying not all the G1's think of us as mechlets. That's all."

"And what kind of amazing experience do you have to prove this?"

Prowler swirled his high grade. "I was with one," he said.

"What?" Hope bolted upright, staring at Prowler with his mouth hanging open. "When the frag was this?"

Snorting, Prowler shook his helm. "Decades ago. It was nothing. Just interfacing."

"'Just interfacing?'" Hope repeated. "I'm guessing the reason this isn't common knowledge is because you know that Sides, Sunny, Jazz, _and_ Prowl would kick this mechs' aft."

Prowler grinned. "Well, them and Drift."

"Drift?" Hope frowned. Realization hit. "Fragging Primus, you fragged Crosshairs?"

"It was during an off-again time!"

"Fragging Primus, Prowler…" Hope stared at his friend, shaking his helm. "That had to have been your first time, too, since I know you were too much of a goody-too-shoes to do anything down on Earth."

Prowler shrugged, smothering his grin, and took a pull from his cube. "The point is," he finally said, "G1'rs don't all look at us as mechlets." He grinned at Hope.

Chuckling, Hope shook his helm. "Noted," he said dryly. He sighed. "I'm just lonely," he groused. "There was a mech I liked, but…" Hope shook his helm. "That's a G1 that will never happen." He stared at Prowler's profile. "You know… Jazz and Prowl are very not subtle about wondering when you and I will ever get together."

Prowler turned, looking at Hope. Hope held his gaze.

They struggled to not grimace. Hope lost. Prowler busted out laughing, leaning into Hope's shoulder. "We've been fighting that slag since we were teens."

"I guess they'll never give up hoping." Hope grinned at Prowler. Together they toasted their high grade, downing another large pull. "Let's give them another twenty years of anxiety, huh?"

Prowler elbowed Hope. "You'll find someone before then."

Hope sighed and drained the rest of his cube. "I hope so." He elbowed Prowler. "So. Streaker is coming up, huh?"

Exhaling, Prowler hunched his shoulders. He spun his column on the bar top. "Yeah."

Hope stared. "You okay?"

Prowler sniffed, rolling his neck. "So, how's the triple changer project coming? You're scanning and testing mechs, right?"

Frowning, Hope nodded. "Yeah. We need a roster of eight right now. I'm trying to find one more."

"I'm going to bring Streaker by for a scan." Prowler didn't look at Hope.

"Really?" Hope's optic ridges shot sky high. "He's not qualified in the Autobots."

"I'm going to work with him. Bring him up to speed." Prowler slapped at the bar top, signaling to the barmech that he was through. "He's not happy on Earth."

"So big bro is going to rescue him, huh?"

"I'm just trying to help." Prowler shook his helm, looking down. "I should have been there more for him. I'm a slag-sucking brother."

Hope stood, dragging Prowler with him. He linked arms with Prowler, guiding them both from the lounge. "You're a good brother, Prowler," he said, patting his hand. "And you have your entire life to be a better brother, so don't torture yourself over the past."

Prowler tried to smile. It got caught somewhere in his scowl and instead, Prowler leaned his helm against Hope's as they walked down the corridor.

* * *

><p>The day of Streaker's arrival on the Moonbase finally came.<p>

Prowler was a wreck. He'd stayed up the entire night before, first cleaning his quarters, then rearranging his furniture, then putting everything back the way it was. He tried to recharge, but he'd tossed and turned until he finally just got up. He tried to read reports from the deep space survey missions, but couldn't concentrate. Eventually he gave up and sat, staring out the window, while his leg bounced up and down, over and over again.

When Streaker's shuttle docked, Prowler was waiting on the hangar deck, hands clasped behind his back, lips pressed in a thin line. He peered through the crowd of mechs, trying to spot his brother in the throngs.

Streaker wasn't easy to miss. He was Sunstreaker replicated, stunningly gorgeous. Sweeping helm fins and an exotic crest, taken straight from Sunstreaker, framed a perfect face. Sculpted cheek arches, arching, plump lips, and a brilliant, joyful glow emanating from his optics. Long Lamborghini lines – he'd taken the same family alt mode – and a buttercup yellow paint job. He was Sunstreaker's beauty and Sideswipe's joy combined into one, and he was simply stunning. He'd bowled over mechs with his stunning good looks all his life, but Streaker had never once cared about his appearance. He was all the more beautiful for that, genuine in a way so few were.

He stopped Prowler's vents, every time. Swallowing, Prowler spotted Streaker before his brother saw him. He let his optics linger, wandering over his brother's frame. That familiar anguish lanced through him, followed by white-hot rage. He offlined his optics and shuddered.

"Prowler!" Streaker's happy shout bounced over the hangar bay. He waved, then ran, tearing for Prowler.

Prowler couldn't help it. He smiled back, beaming, and held open his arms. Streaker leapt, jumping on Prowler and wrapping him up in a bear hug. They were the same size, same height, and Prowler stumbled at the impact. He wouldn't let go.

"Hey Streaker," Prowler whispered. He inhaled, breathing in Streaker's scent as he buried his face in Streaker's neck. "Missed you."

"Primus, I've missed you so much," Streaker said. He squeezed, then finally let his brother go. He found his feet, standing too close to Prowler. Their arms brushed, thighs scraped together. "I was way too excited this past week. I thought today would never get here." He was grinning, beaming, staring at Prowler like Prowler was the center of the universe.

Prowler's spark flip flopped, fluttering and floundering. This was why he couldn't be around Streaker. He reached for Streaker's gear bag. "Let's get you settled in."

Streaker followed Prowler off the hangar deck. "I'm staying with you, right?"

"For now." Prowler smiled at Streaker's grin. "If you stay here permanently, you'll get your own quarters."

Sighing, Streaker sagged. "I really don't know what to do right now, bro."

"We'll figure it out." Prowler wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulder. He hated that he loved it as much as he did. "Don't even worry about it. You brought your sketchbook, right?"

Streaker nodded.

"Good. There's a ton of stuff that might inspire you up here. Maybe you could be an artist on the Moonbase. Or, if you think there's something you want to do with the Autobots, we can make that work too." He squeezed his brother close, feeling his warmth. "We can make anything work out for you."

Streaker beamed at Prowler. "You're amazing," he said. "You can just make everything better."

Prowler bit his lip. Shame curled at his spark, lapping at the edge of his processor. He was veering dangerously on abusing his power to get Streaker assigned anywhere in the Autobots, and having an artist stationed at the Moonbase? It was ludicrous. But, Prowler would make it happen if Streaker wanted it.

Finally, they wound their way to Prowler's quarters. He palmed them in and Streaker nearly ran inside. "I've always wanted to see where you live," he breathed. He circled Prowler's quarters, taking everything in. An empty berth, plain. Shelves with data pads. The single porthole. And, Prowler's desk, covered with the sketches, drawings, and paintings Streaker had sent over the years. Pictures of Streaker, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe, and more of Streaker alone, were tacked to the walls by his desk.

Prowler had taken them all down the night before. Then, he'd put them all back up. He'd hidden the pictures of Streaker he kept by his berth.

"Wow…" Streaker breathed. He fingered every sketch, every drawing. Crayon pictures from when he was a tiny mechlet. His first real sketches around the _Ark_. Actual formal drawings. One sketch of the brothers together, smiling on one of Prowler's rare Earth visits in Streaker's teen years. "I didn't know you kept them."

"Every one." Prowler's optics roamed over Streaker. Streaker's back was to him. He could look, just this once, just right now.

Streaker turned around, grinning. Prowler snapped his optics up. They were blazing, streaked with white, and he clenched his denta, grinding his gears.

Streaker ignored him. He crossed the room, flinging himself into Prowler's berth. He wiggled around, pressing his face into the mesh pillow. "Mmmm," he groaned. "This is so much nicer than the old berth back home."

Prowler burned alive. He begged for oblivion, for the moon to open up and swallow him whole. Turning away from Streaker, writhing in his berth, was the single hardest thing he'd ever done. Inhaling deep, Prowler grabbed Streaker's gear bag. He dumped the gear – sketch pad, pencils, charcoals, data pads, cleansers, rags, and energon rations – and started setting them in neat, obsessive piles on his shelves. He didn't turn around. He couldn't.

"What now?" Streaker perched on his elbow, lounging on the berth with one ankle crossed over the other, his knee bent just so. His helm tilted, almost coy, and his optics glowed. He smiled at Prowler, carefree and happy.

Oh, the things Prowler wanted to do. His hands curled into fists and he fought to control his vents. This was an awful idea, a terrible idea. He'd never survive. "It's almost midshift," he said. His voice was too deep. He cleared his throat. "Do you want to go grab some energon? The galley opens at midshift."

"Sure!" Streaker pushed himself up, standing next to Prowler. "Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Streaker, ever the gregarious Sideswipe duplicate in personality, made quick work of the galley and lounge. Hope was there, chatting over data pads with First Aid and Silverbolt. Hope smirked as he saw Prowler and Streaker enter, then waved them over. Streaker was soon asking Hope and First Aid all about the medbay and the medical mission on the Moonbase. He chatted Silverbolt's audials off next, wanting to know everything there was to know about space flight. Optics wide with wonder and delight, he clung to every word, every story.<p>

Streetwise and Blades wandered in. Blades leaned against the back of Hope's chair, watching everything silently, while Streetwise made a loud complaint about more "mechling invasions."

Prowler sat back, letting Streaker make his inroads, make his connections. He was always better than Prowler at making friends. Prowler had dropped his Earth friends as soon as he'd been posted to the moon, and neither he nor they had attempted to reconnect. He had his one friend, Hope, and Jazz and Prowl as pseudo-friends. Streaker knew everyone, it seemed, and rattled off story after story of the mechlets the Protectobots had last known as sparklings. He told a seam-busting story about Ironhide getting roped into taking over classes for the day while he and Wheeljack had ended up on opposite shifts on the moon, and then told the Infamous Lab Incident story with Piston and Didget. The mechs around were howling with laughter. A small crowd formed – Crosshairs, Drift, Sky Dive, Gears, Lightspeed, Tailgate, Blueprint, and Hope's circle of friends.

Midshift had long ended by the time the mechs finally dispersed. They all smiled and shook Streaker's hand, welcoming him on board and inviting him back for the evening meal and for drinks later. Streaker was a hit.

But, wasn't he always? Prowler looked down at his clasped hands as he swallowed. He was going to do just fine. It was Prowler that was going to die, was going to burn. He sighed, cycling his optics.

Streaker stood before him. "Hey bro," he said quietly. "That was awesome. You have a lot of great mechs up here."

Prowler nodded. He pushed himself up. "Yeah, they're good." He motioned for Streaker to lead the way. "You seem to know them better than I do, though."

Streaker frowned. "You don't have a lot of friends, do you?"

Prowler's steps faltered. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I know how difficult it can be to be your brother sometimes." Streaker gave Prowler a tiny smile. "You keep yourself pretty closed off, you know. I never, ever thought you'd give me this kind of experience. Getting to spend so much time with you?" He really smiled this time. "It's like a dream come true."

Prowler tore his gaze away. It was a beautiful nightmare, that's what it was. "Yes. I do keep to myself."

"You don't have to," Streaker said. He reached for Prowler's wrist. "You're awesome, Prowler. Just the way you are."

Prowler shifted, breaking contact with Streaker's plating. His wrist was searing, his plating practically melting. He tried to smile. He failed. "Want to see my office?" He gestured to the hallway leading to the Command Center and the Ops deck.

Nodding, Streaker flashed him a quick grin. Hidden in his optics was a darker note of concern, of questions, and it lingered in Streaker's gaze as he followed Prowler down the hallway.

The Command Center was a separate bubble, domed with transparent aluminum and set high above the rest of the Moonbase. The dome provided a full view of the base – the hangar, the sprawling habitation wing, the operations decks, and the expanding construction crawling along the surface of the moon. The hangar was expanding dramatically, and Streaker saw launching pads, slingshots, and runways all under construction.

Three offices sat at the back of the command deck. Prowl's, in the middle, set highest. On either side, one half step down, Jazz and Prowler's offices flanked the Base Commander's.

"Wow," Streaker breathed. "You're, like, second in command."

Prowler snorted. "No, I'm not." He guided Streaker to his office. "I'm an Ops officer. I'm just one of the half dozen."

Streaker gestured around Prowler's office, his optics calling Prowler dumb. "I don't see anyone else having an office right next to Prowl."

Prowler smiled and shook his helm. He said nothing.

The office doors slid open and Jazz poked his helm in. "Hey Streaker!" He grinned at Prowler's younger brother. "Glad to have you on board. How long are you staying?"

Streaker shot Prowler a quick glance. "Uh, still deciding," he said. "Maybe for a long time?"

"Cool." Jazz was unflappable. He tossed a quick glance Prowler's way. "Our deep space contact says he's picking up some rumbles. Just want to let you know in case we get a call to go out for a look-see."

Prowler nodded.

"Have fun! See you in the lounge tonight!" Jazz waved and disappeared as Streaker leaned back against Prowler's desk.

"More deep space missions?" Streaker's optics twinkled.

"Yes." Prowler chuckled. "And no, I can't tell you anything more than I could before."

Streaker moaned, long and loud. "You're so full of secrets!"

Prowler froze. He swallowed, his optics downcast. Streaker frowned, but before he could say anything, Prowler was speaking again. "So. About that project Hope is working on."

"Yeah?" Streaker pushed up onto Prowler's desk, sitting on the edge and letting his legs swing.

Prowler watched his brother's legs swing back and forth. "You seemed really interested in Silverbolt's stories."

"Totally. I've always liked flying in the shuttles. I wish I had a flight alt mode."

Prowler stared. "Really."

Streaker nodded. "Can you imagine flying? Feeling the wind over your plating, or space, even? Silverbolt said flying in space feels like scattered electricity. I guess that makes sense." He chewed his lip, thinking. "Sometimes I drive as fast as I can and pretend I'm flying in the wind." He grinned, looking down. "I know that's pretty lame."

Inhaling, Prowler folded his arms across his chest. He smiled, long and slow. "I might be able to help you out, Streaker."

* * *

><p>Streaker was practically bouncing apart, all beaming smiles and electric optics as they walked into the medbay. Hope chuckled at Streaker, knowing instantly what had happened.<p>

"So," Hope said. "Is this my final recruit?"

"Primus, please yes!" Streaker couldn't contain his excitement. "I totally want to volunteer!"

Prowler and Hope shared a laugh together. "Well, I have to scan you first, Streaker. Not every mech is compatible with the required modifications. It's a pretty big transitional surgery to go from a single to a triple changer. And the analysis will take some time. Up to a week."

Nodding, Streaker tried to get his enthusiasm under control. He really tried. "Okay," he said. "How can I sign up to get scanned?"

Hope patted the medberth next to him. "Hop up here." Streaker scrambled to the berth, lying down instantly. Hope couldn't suppress his grin. Prowler stayed back, arms crossed, watching through dim optics.

"Alright, the scans take almost an hour. I have to scan every system, every sub-system, and every single micrometer of your frame and protoform. Can you lie here for an hour, or do you want me to put you in recharge?"

"I'll be fine. I might offline. I didn't recharge much last night." He turned to Prowler, smiling. "I was too excited."

Hope followed his gaze. He stared at Prowler, watching his friend closely. "That's fine. You can fall into recharge anytime. I'll wake you when it's done." And with that, he turned the scanner on. The hover-scanner floated over Streaker, passing over his body in long lines, over and over again.

Crossing the medbay, Hope leaned against the bulkhead next to Prowler. Prowler was still watching Streaker. "Prowler? You doing okay?" He nudged his friend with his shoulder.

"Hmm?" Prowler barely looked at Hope. His optics flashed back to Streaker. "I'm fine," he grunted.

"No, you're not." Hope waited. Prowler didn't move. "Prowler!"

"What?" Prowler glared at Hope. "I'm fine."

Hope threw his hands in the air. "Fine, don't talk to me. Your one and only friend." He glared back at Prowler. "But you need to get help, Prowler. You're fading away. You don't do a slagging thing other than work yourself to near-stasis and every once in a while drink with me. If you won't open up to me, then, dear Primus, I hope you open up to him." Hope nodded toward Streaker. "He worships you and you had better do something to earn that. Overworking and glitching out because you're a shadow of a mech doesn't cut it."

Prowler was silent, glaring. "Thank you, Doctor," he growled.

"I'll let you know when he's done." Hope rolled his optics as he pushed away from Prowler.

"Thanks, but I'll stay."

Hope started, turning back to Prowler.

"What? Didn't you just accuse me of working too much?" Prowler glared hard.

Hope threw his hands into the air. "Fine. Stay. I've got work to do." He stalked away, heading for his office.

On the medberth, Streaker hummed in recharge, oblivious to Prowler's optics crawling over his plating, his hungry gaze caressing his lines and curves. Prowler's hands clenched in fists as he crossed his arms, his fingers digging into his palms hard enough to leave dents. He'd protect his brother, even if it was the last thing he did. He'd protect him from himself.

* * *

><p>Streaker was shocked when Prowler pulled out a recharge mat and unrolled it on the floor.<p>

"Prowler. The berth is big enough for both of us." He shook his helm. "We used to recharge together all the time in the single berth back home."

Prowler wouldn't look at Streaker. "That was a long time ago," he said.

"So?"

"I have nightmares," Prowler said quickly. "I don't want to startle you."

Streaker frowned. "You used to hold me when I'd have trouble recharging. Why can't I do the same for you?"

"Streaker." Prowler clenched his jaw. He couldn't take Streaker begging him into the berth. "Please. Just drop it." He straightened the recharge mat, smoothing the surface out.

Hopping off the berth, Streaker pushed the mat right up next to the berth. "Fine. But at least stay close. You don't need to be all the way across the room." He crawled back into the berth and laid down on the side right above the recharge mat. He could look off the side and look down at Prowler. He could touch him if he reached out.

Prowler swallowed. "Okay," he said. He disappeared into the washroom as Streaker settled down into the berth, wiggling himself into a comfortable position.

Prowler splashed water on his face, then slapped himself hard across the cheek. "Get it together," he growled at himself. He glared at his reflection in the mirror as he gripped the narrow basin under his spigot. He slapped himself again, harder. "You will not hurt him." He swallowed, staring into his own optics. Dark, full of dangerous desire and everything that was wrong with him. He lowered his helm. Primus, he was evil. He was awful, the worst kind of mech there was. Prowler shook his helm, trying to hold back his sob.

"Prowler?" Streaker, calling form the other room.

"I'm fine!" Prowler splashed another handful of water on his face, rubbing his optics quickly. They were scratchy with static. He turned them down, dimming them. He looked worse that way, underpowered and up to no good. He turned away, disgusted. Stealing a deep vent, Prowler walked back into the main room.

Streaker was smiling at him, laying on his side in Prowler's berth. One of those lazy, content smiles, one that fit so perfectly on his face, stretch over his face.

Prowler's spark stuttered. "Hey," he whispered. "Get some recharge, okay?"

Streaker nodded. "Thank you," he said softly. "I haven't had a day this good in ages." He reached for Prowler, holding out his hand.

Pressing his lips together, Prowler gently took Streaker's hand, squeezing it in his own. "I love you, Streaker," Prowler whispered. "Please know that."

"Love you too." Streaker beamed, then pulled his hand back and tucked it under his helm. He powered down his optics, slowly fading offline.

Prowler stayed stock-still, watching his brother fade into recharge, letting his processor play out all of the dark fantasies he kept locked away, brutally away. Shame tore through him, and rage. He couldn't swallow it down, couldn't choke back his self-loathing. He wanted to purge, he wanted to scrub his plating, tear out his optics, and chop off his hands. His fingers twitched, yearning for his brother's plating.

Shaking his helm, Prowler folded himself down into his recharge mat. Streaker rolled, following Prowler, and he let one arm dangle off the side of the berth, right next to Prowler's helm. Prowler pressed close, inhaling his brother's scent, and barely ghosted his cheek across the back of his brother's hand.

Charge crashed through him, surging through his body. Prowler rolled on his front, smothering his groan as his spike tried to burst through his interface cover. He humped the recharge mat, pressing his hand against his panel and squeezed his optics shut. _Frag, frag, frag! _Biting down on his lip, Prowler let his cover slide off. He took his spike in hand, jerking himself hard and harsh. He hated this, hated himself, and just wanted it to be over.

Prowler leaned toward Streaker's hand again, breathing in. His brother's scent burned through him, and he barely offlined his vocalizer before he overloaded, spurting transfluid all over his plating, the recharge mat, and his hand.

Panting, Prowler offlined his optics and shuddered. He pressed his face into the recharge mat and let the sob build inside him. His vocalizer was off and all that echoed through the room was the rumble of his engine and hissing of his vents as he pounded the recharge mat next to his helm.

After a long moment, Prowler pushed himself up, clambering to his feet. He trudged to the washroom, staring at his transfluid-covered body in disgust. He was disgusting. Utterly disgusting.

Prowler sobbed silently as he washed the transfluid from his body.

Streaker's optics onlined in the darkness. He didn't move, didn't breathe. He pulled his hand back up to the berth, folding himself up into a tiny ball.

* * *

><p>The distress call came in the middle of the night. Jazz comm'd Hope, then banged on his door when Hope didn't respond right away.<p>

"I'm up, I'm up!" Hope palmed open his door with one optic flickering. "What the slag, Jazz?"

"Hot Spot sent a distress call and we can't raise him." Jazz jerked his helm toward the hallway. "We're launching a search and rescue mission. C'mon."

"Me?" Hope rubbed his optics, trying to straighten his doorwings from their sleepy tangle. "You never take me into deep space."

"Don't know if Hot Spot is hurt or not, and I'm not bringing First Aid on the chance that he is." Jazz headed for his office, grabbing unmarked gear boxes. He motioned for Hope to grab the last two. "Let's load these up and then you go grab your trauma kit. We're launching in ten minutes."

Hope followed Jazz to the hangar, where Prowl was already pre-flighting a deep space shuttle. Jazz took the gear and loaded up while he shooed Hope off to the Medbay. Hope ran, grabbing everything he could carry. He swiped energon rations for him and Jazz, too, then ran back to the hangar. Jazz was already in the flight seat, waiting for him, and Prowl squeezed Hope on the shoulder as he raced on board.

"Stay safe out there," Prowl said. His optics were thick with worry. "Keep in contact."

Hope nodded, and then the ramp was closing and he was strapping into the jump seats as Jazz blasted off, tearing through the system and heading for Hot Spot's distress call.

* * *

><p>Hope fell into recharge before Jazz made Jupiter.<p>

He woke briefly as he heard Jazz talking on the comm. An alien, deep green and pock-marked, bald with tufts of hair and an under bite for days was growling back at Jazz on the vidscreen. Hope blinked, flickering his optics, and then he was gone.

Jazz shook him awake hours later. Jazz had burned the shuttle's engine's hard, breaking all of their speed and energy restrictions and opening up full throttle on the burn. Hot Spot hadn't gone far before his distress call, but Jazz wasn't taking any chances, or wasting any time.

"Get your kit assembled," Jazz said. "We're nearing the coordinates."

Hope hauled himself up and grabbed his trauma kit. He kept it ready to go, stocked full at all times, and he knew where everything was inside. No deviations, no changes. He was ready to go, and he stood next to Jazz on the flight deck, watching them fly toward the coordinates.

Debris flashed by. Pieces of shuttle. Torn bulkheads. Hope heard Jazz inhale, holding his breath. "Mark these coordinates," Jazz murmured. "We may come back and scan the wreckage for forensics."

Nodding, Hope sat at the ops station, logging each scattered piece of debris they passed. The debris field grew, until Jazz was flying over and above chunks of shuttle and blown apart gear. He gritted his denta, searching for Hot Spot, searching for a life sign amidst the wreckage.

Hope jumped out of his plating as the comm blared. "Heya Jazz," a deep voice rumbled. "Found what ya were lookin' for."

Jazz slammed his hand down on the comm panel. "You've got him?"

"Got here before you did. Pulled 'im from the wreckage you're barrelin' through. He was out in the vacuum for a bit. He's cold as ice."

"Where are you? We'll dock and check him out."

"Right above ya."

Jazz tilted the shuttle up and throttled forward, rising above the wreckage. Hope stared out the shuttle's window as another ship, sleek and dangerous, crept into view. Twin nacelles stretched back from a crescent craft. Reflective black with neon-lime light-piping scrawling across the surface, the craft made Hope's plating crawl.

"You know them?" Hope swallowed behind Jazz.

"Stay very close to me," Jazz said sharply. "Don't speak to anyone." He stared at Hope, stern. "I'm serious."

"Let's just find Hot Spot." Hope hefted his trauma kit on his shoulder as Packer's ship extended an airlock bridge. Jazz pulled up close, maneuvering the guidance thrusters until the maglocks engaged. Ten seconds and a strut-jarring crunch later, and they had hard lock. Jazz powered down the main engines and leaped out of the cockpit. He was running to the airlock, Hope alongside him.

Packer was waiting at the end of the airlock bridge. He was slouched against the hatch combing, leaning on his forearm over his head. "We got 'im down in the hangar," he said. "Follow me."

Jazz pushed Hope in front of him as they crossed into Packer's ship. Hope had to move fast to keep up with Packer, nearly jogging, and his processor was torn between worry over Hot Spot and prepping for the decompression injuries he was sure to face, and complete and total shock over Packer's ship. Dark, dusky, and dimly lit, Hope could barely make out the bulkheads. Smoke curled in the recessed ceiling panels, snaking down the corridor. Bare metal grates clattered with each step. Packer's crew, a motley assortment of seemingly the galaxy's worst outlaws, hung in the shadows and in alcoves, spying on the visitors. Beady eyes reflected barely any light, but cut through the gloom enough for Hope to know that he was being watched.

Jazz stayed close, practically up Hope's tailpipe. Hope turned and glared at Jazz. Jazz didn't care, and didn't back off.

Packer got out of the way as they turned onto the hangar deck. Small attack craft, laserlight snipers, lined one side of the hangar, stacked in rows and columns. Hope couldn't say how many there actually were. And, in the center of the hangar, separated from everything, Hot Spot's greying frame lay on his stomach, curled halfway around himself.

Hope took off, tearing to his side. "Hot Spot?" He was scanning as he slid on his knees, skidding to a stop next to the Protectobot. Life signs were faint, fading. He was offline, unconscious.

Jazz was next to Hope then, dropping down and helping as Hope rolled Hot Spot over. "Tell me what you need," Jazz said, short and sharp.

Readouts flashed by on Hope's med pad. Decompression mods had saved Hot Spot's life, but he'd been out in the vacuum for longer than they were designed for. Plus, he had blast injuries, a helm injury, some crushing in his hip – which had damaged his mods even more – and a jagged slice through his shoulder and neck. Hope swallowed, prioritizing Hot Spot's injuries. He'd get one chance at this, only one.

"Start clamping his peripheral lines." Hope unclasped his trauma kit with one hand, pointing to the clamps. "We can repower his limbs later. I need to shunt his remaining power to his core."

Jazz nodded and dug in, already clamping before Hope was finished speaking. Hope grabbed his static bandages, slapping the largest over Hot Spot's exposed hip joint. He'd have to reconstruct the hip later, once they'd saved his life, but for now, he needed to clot that leak.

Clamping done, Jazz turned to Hope. "What next?"

"Prep for energon transfer." He passed the energon field transfer kit to Jazz. Jazz knew how to set it up. He and Hope had practiced field assembly and field infusion in their quarters years before. Prowl hadn't been able to watch, not when it was Hope. Jazz cleared the transfusion lines, attached the spike drip to one end and punctured the energon bag with the other. He held the bag high, over his head. "Ready."

Hope kept scanning. The energon shunted from Hot Spot's limbs was redirecting to his core. He watched, willing the power levels to climb.

They didn't.

"We have to spike his spark chamber." Hope grabbed his laser scalpel. He leaned over Hot Spot, firing up the scalpel at his collar fairing. The laser hummed, glowing an iridescent white-blue, and Hope sliced right through Hot Spot's armor, all the way to his waist. He cut a triangle in the middle of his chest, then grabbed the cut sections and yanked. Hot Spot's armor came apart, tearing at the break and exposing his internals, his spark chamber.

Jazz was silent as Hope guided the spike drip to Hot Spot's spark chamber. He searched, feeling at the space-cold chamber for a pulsing energon line, embedding in the metal. There, in the base. Hope swallowed, kept one finger on the barely-pulsing line, and slid the spike drip in with one motion.

Hope heard Jazz exhale behind him. He nodded for Jazz to grab his med pad. Jazz held it up for Hope as Hope felt the first pulses of energon slide into Hot Spot's spark chamber. Power levels crept up, barely. He sighed.

"Jazz, hold that energon bag until it's empty. I'm going to start on his neck and helm." Jazz nodded, and Hope turned to Hot Spot's ravaged neck. A piece of shuttle was stuck in his shoulder, severing an energon line. He clamped the two sides, then tore the piece out and tossed it aside. That line would have to be replaced. Beneath it, the servos connecting Hot Spot's shoulder and arm to his chest had been damaged. More replacements. Hope followed the energon lines from Hot Spot's spark chamber to his helm, closely following the neural lines at Hot Spot's neck. Both were pulsing, albeit weakly, with energon and power.

Leaning back, Hope exhaled. Hot Spot would survive. He'd be in a world of hurt, and he was going to be a resident of the medbay for a while, but he was going to survive.

Jazz grabbed Hope's shoulder, squeezing. "Great job," he whispered. His voice was ragged, and when Hope turned back to Jazz, Jazz's visor was streaked with white.

"I'm going to patch up the leaks on his helm and face while that empties." Jazz nodded, still smiling at Hope.

Behind them, Packer watched, his eyes jumping from Jazz to Hope and back again. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Jazz," he called. "We pulled some o' the wreckage from his shuttle. Let's go check it out."

* * *

><p>Prowler met Streaker at the Moonbase range the next afternoon. He was rubbing his jaw as he jogged onto the range. He was late, which never happened, and Streaker was practically out of his plating with worry.<p>

Streaker spotted the swollen jaw instantly, though Prowler tried to hide it. "What the slag?" Streaker reached for Prowler, but hesitated.

Prowler pulled back. He chuckled. "It's my own fault," he said. "I was sparring with Prowl. We don't spar often, but we both needed it." He licked his lip. It was split where Prowl had landed a nice kick. "I was distracted."

"So you got punched in the jaw?" Streaker frowned.

"Kicked." Prowler motioned to the range locker. "It's part of combativies."

"I'm not sure I like that," Streaker grumbled.

"It's part of being an Autobot." Prowler shrugged. "Hand to hand combat can be a reality. We have to train for it. You'll start nice and easy. If you join."

"Oh, I don't care about me," Streaker clarified. He was still frowning. "I don't like you getting hurt."

Prowler smiled, slow and sweet, and swallowed. "I'm fine, Streaker." He turned away, trying not to let Streaker's care touch him so deeply.

He didn't see Streaker rummaging in the locker, didn't see him pull down the first aid kit. Streaker had the sealant out before Prowler turned around, and when he did, Streaker was right there, right in front of him. Prowler jumped, and Streaker grabbed his chin, holding him still.

"Don't move," Streaker ordered. He squeezed sealant onto Prowler's lip, then rubbed it in with his thumb. Slow, careful rubs, warm and gentle.

Prowler stopped breathing.

Streaker smiled at him. "Someone has to take care of you," he grumbled. He pulled back, looking down as he closed the sealant and tucked it back into the first aid kit.

Prowler fought his body's reaction to Streaker with everything he had. He whipped around, studying the weapons in the lockers, cataloguing each and every rifles' specs, ranges, and figures. Streaker took forever to put away the first aid kit and Prowler took those moments to force his engine back, to calm the frag down, and to stop his spark from exploding.

"Alright, which do you want to practice on?" Streaker stood behind Prowler, looking over his shoulder.

Swallowing, Prowler reached for the basic laser rifle every mech had trained on. "We'll start simple," he grunted. "Then move up." He couldn't meet Streaker's optics as he turned around. Instead, he offered the rifle to Streaker, pointing out the laser cartridges, the chamber, the reload procedures, and the targeting system.

"Let's get this started!" Streaker smiled at Prowler as Prowler grabbed his own rifle, then walked side by side with his brother down the range lanes. The Moonbase range was a mixed compression/decompression range. Close targets were under the Moonbase shield and compression, though they shot into the dusty side of one of the moon's many craters. On the other side of the range, the Moonbase shield came down in the middle of the range, and the laser shots blasted through into the vacuum, passing through the shield with the same frequencies and harmonics. Sniper practice and long range targets were set up in the decompression zone, far across their crater.

Prowler set Streaker up at a close range lane. He showed his brother how to stand, how to hold the rifle, how to fire. Streaker mirrored his actions, and finally, was ready to fire.

His shot went wide, nearly into the next lane. Prowler winced. Streaker's optics were wide. "Oops."

"Here, try and adjust your hold. And, stand like this…" Prowler tried to show Streaker, tried to get his brother to mimic his actions. Instead, Streaker got more confused, not sure what he was supposed to be watching. He shook his helm and reached for Prowler, grabbing him and dragging to him.

"Show me," Streaker said. "Get behind me and put me where you want me."

Prowler choked, coughing, his optics blazing. Streaker frowned, dropping his rifle.

"Prowler?"

"I'm fine," Prowler wheezed. He turned away, trying to clear his vents. He shook his hands, trying to shake out the tremors in his body. His vents caught on every inhale. His engine was skipping thrusts, his spark jumping pulses. He exhaled, exhaled again, scrubbed his optics.

When he turned around, Streaker was watching him, staring at him with an unreadable sheen to his optics. Prowler motioned to Streaker to get back into firing position. Streaker did, slowly.

"Alright." Prowler carefully wrapped his arms around Streaker's, trying to adjust his hold without actually touching his brother. "Like this." His helm was right next to Streaker's, cheeks almost touching. Prowler swallowed.

"What about my legs?"

Backing away, Prowler looked down. "Your hips are wrong." He reached out, hesitated, then grasped Streaker's hips in his shaking hands. He could feel his trembles shooting up Streaker's plating. Prowler twisted, jerking Streaker into position. "Try that."

Blessedly, Streaker was silent.

"Ready to try again?" Streaker nodded. His optics were narrowed to slits and burning bright. He inhaled, sighted down the rifle, and pulled the trigger.

Bull's eye.

Prowler's mouth dropped open. He stared, then stared at Streaker. Streaker pumped his hands in the air, still holding the rifle, and beamed. He turned and grabbed Prowler, pulling him into a hug. "I did it!"

"Yeah, you did it once," Prowler grumbled. He pushed Streaker back. "Let's see more of that." He grinned at his brother.

"No problem." Streaker winked and turned back to the range. "Do I look alright?"

"You look perfect." Absolutely perfect. Prowler's hands clenched hard as Streaker took his next shot.

* * *

><p>Hot Spot was stable enough to move, stable enough to blearily online even. His optics flickered and he found Hope, gazing down at him with his med pad. Hot Spot grunted, tried to smile, and fell offline.<p>

"Dummy," Hope whispered. He stroked his hand over Hot Spot's helm, down his cheek. "I'll get you home. First Aid and your brothers will kick your aft."

Behind Hope, Packer stood with Jazz. He motioned to Hope. "Who's that mech?"

"He's no one."

Hope turned around. "Hey," he said, frowning.

"Just a medic I brought along." Jazz gritted his denta, grinding his gears. He glared at Hope.

Packer grinned, slow and sly. "He's your kid, innit'he?"

"We call them 'mechlets'," Jazz ground out through gritted denta. He slipped an energon blade from his subspace and grabbed Packer around the throat in one swift move. "And I will kill you if you even look at him sideways."

Weapons charged around the hangar, Packer's crew appearing from the shadows. Hope stilled, freezing. His optics went wide as he stared at Jazz.

"Hey now," Packer said. He rested his hand on Jazz's, slowly pushing at the blade. "No need to get all antsy. We've been partners now for wha', two decades? Ya made me a whole lotta credits, my mech. I ain't gonna blast yer family." He grinned at Hope. "It's nice, seein' yer kid. He's good. Smart, like ya."

Jazz was breathing hard, hot vents exhaling harsh on Packer's face. "I'm serious," he growled. "I will kill you."

Packer chuckled. He patted Jazz's cheek. "I ain't gonna touch yer kid, Jazz." He waved at Hope. "Hey there. Nice t' meet ya."

Hope waved back, gingerly waving the med pad as he stared at his parent. "Jazz?"

"Is Hot Spot ready for transport?" Jazz lowered his energon blade, fractionally.

"Yes."

"Then get the anti-grav mags on him and let's move."

Moving quickly, Hope slapped the mags on Hot Spot's frame and powered them up. Hot Spot grunted, moaning softly as he was moved, but Hope had him gliding toward the hangar bay doors inside of a minute. "Jazz?"

"We're leaving," Jazz growled.

"I mean ya and yers no harm, Jazz." Packer held his hands up. "E'reyone, leave 'em be as they depart."

Backing away, Jazz never dropped his blade, or his blaster. He kept to Hope's side, glaring at shadows and beady eyes as the three mechs hustled down the airlock gangway and back to their shuttle.

Inside, Jazz wasted no time in throttling up the engine and breaking the hard lock on their ships' connection. "Is Hot Spot locked in?" Jazz hollered.

"Final strap on now!" Hope shouted back. He pressed his hand on Hot Spot's cheek. "Hang on, dummy," he whispered. "This will be hard and fast." Hope grabbed onto the cabin bar above Hot Spot, bracing himself as Jazz floored the shuttle's engine and blasted away.

Much later, after Hope let Jazz calm the frag down, he steeled himself and wandered up to the flight deck. Jazz was bent over the ops terminal, running an analysis on the scans of Hot Spot's wreckage they'd passed by earlier.

"Hey," Hope called out quietly.

Jazz grunted, glancing Hope's way once.

Hope sighed. "What are you mad about now? What did I do this time?"

Jazz ground his gears, clenching his fist. His arms shook and he fought not to pound the terminal. "It's not you," Jazz growled. "I nearly killed Packer. Just for looking at you."

"Jazz, I'm fine." Hope spread his arms wide. "I'm totally fine. Hot Spot is, well, not fine right now, but he's going to be. This mission was a success!" He frowned. "What are you so worked up about?"

Jazz let his helm hang low, drooping between his shoulders. "I can't let anythin' happen to you, Hope," he said. "I can't even imagine any harm comin' to you. I just… seize up. Go crazy." He sighed. "I don't trust Packer. I never have. But, he's our front man to the quadrant, at least for now. I need him." Jazz shook his helm. "And I would have slit his throat in a sparkpulse if he had even looked cross-eyed at you."

Frowning, Hope moved to Jazz's side. "I'm fine," he repeated. "You don't have to worry about me."

"But I do!" Jazz spun around. "I didn't want to bring you out here, but with Hot Spot, I didn't have a choice." He moved, standing before Hope as he clasped his hands over his mouth. "I carried you, Hope. Your spark was inside mine. You grew inside me." He shook his helm. "And I almost lost you once."

Hope frowned. He didn't remember being almost lost.

"Even the thought of losing you again…" Jazz shook his helm.

"But you send Prowler out here, all on his own, all the time." Hope gestured to the back of the shuttle. "And Hot Spot!"

"They're not you." Jazz shook his helm. "They're not you."

"Prowler –"

"Isn't. You." Jazz pressed his lips together. "It's not rational, Hope, I know. And I'm sorry, but you don't have a rational set of parents."

Hope fixed Jazz with a dark glare that called Jazz all kinds of stupid.

"Can you help me analyze the shuttle wreckage?" Jazz held out his hand. "I'm havin' trouble seein' straight." He had the decency to look embarrassed. "If Hot Spot is stable for now."

Sighing, Hope nodded. "I can help."

Jazz exhaled, relieved, and they moved to the ops terminal. "Packer swears that it wasn't Decepticons," Jazz said. Wreckage twirled on screen, blast marks highlighted. "But that, right there, is an energon blast."

"Did Packer see what happened? How does he know it wasn't Decepticons?"

"Says he saw the Others." Jazz paused at Hope's frown. "'Others' are mechanoids that haunt out here. Slaughter random worlds, come and go like ghosts."

"Sounds delightful. Not 'Cons?"

Jazz shook his helm. "No affiliation with either faction. Not even Cybertronian. But, Packer swears he saw their ships in the area."

"He didn't see any 'Cons, though?"

"No one has seen any 'Cons, not in twenty years." Jazz exhaled, leaning against the terminal. "Maybe Hot Spot can tell us what he saw when he onlines. How is he?"

"He'll live. He's going to be in my medbay for a while, but he's going to be just fine." Hope crossed his arms and leaned against the terminal housing.

Jazz smiled. He squeezed Hope's forearm. "You're amazing, my mechlet."

Hope snorted, smiling. It faded quickly. "Can we trust Packer? Really trust him?"

Jazz sighed, long and loud. "That, Hope, is the question I ask myself every day."

* * *

><p>"Alright, we did some Autobot stuff –"<p>

"Which I was amazing at!" Streaker grinned at Prowler.

"Yes, which you were unnaturally amazing at." Prowler chuckled at his brother. "Have you been secretly practicing on Earth?"

"Nope, I'm just that awesome." Streaker winked.

"Alright, big pistons, settle down." Still, Prowler smiled. "Now, I want to see the master artist in action."

Streaker drew up short. He stilled, going quiet.

"What?" Prowler frowned. "No?"

"Can I ask a favor?" Streaker turned those big blue optics to Prowler, crystal clear and piercing.

Prowler could never say no to those optics. "Of course."

"Can I do a piece on you?"

At this rate, Prowler was going to die of a spark-attack, never mind over-working. For the fourth time, his vents stuttered, his spark skipped, and he nearly hacked up a vent trying to cycle his systems. "What?" he choked out.

"You're gorgeous," Streaker breathed. Prowler stiffened, looking away. "There's so much character in you." Streaker's hand rose, cupping Prowler's cheek. Prowler tried desperately to not sigh into the touch, to not cringe, to not weep or seize Streaker or fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, or, even worse, grab his brother and kiss him senseless. "I have always wanted to do a real piece of you."

Clearing his throat, Prowler tried to speak. He was fidgeting, his fingers shaking. "Where?" he asked.

"How about your quarters? That porthole has great starlight." Streaker grinned, unnaturally shy. "And, I'm not sure I want to be working out in the open up here. No one has seen that."

"Not yet." Prowler smiled, soft. "They love you up here, Streaker. You can do anything and the mechs will adore it."

Streaker shrugged, a happy smile teasing at his lips. "Maybe," he said. "But I want this to be just us. Is that okay?"

It was more than okay. It was so many different kinds of wrong. "Sure," Prowler said. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Jazz, Hope, and Hot Spot got back late that evening, setting down in the hangar bay after the late shift had begun. Prowl waited for them, his optics pinched with worry, lips pressed together. His doorwings sagged behind his back, but still, he smiled wide when he saw Jazz and Hope emerge with Hot Spot in tow.<p>

First Aid ran to his brother's side, staring down at his slightly-less-grey-form. Hope had transmitted Hot Spot's medical status before they docked and First Aid had spent the better part of five hours setting up the medbay, making it just-so for his brother. The rest of the Protectobots were waiting in First Aid's office, gathered together in silence.

"You saved his life," First Aid said. He looked up at Hope. "That's another of my brother's you've saved."

"I like your brothers." Hope smiled. His optics were tired and faded. "I'll keep 'em around for a while."

First Aid grinned, and Hope could see it in his optics, in the crinkles at the corners of his blast mask. "You've got a great mechlet, Prowl, Jazz." First Aid nodded to his superiors.

Prowl and Jazz nodded back, smiling.

Hope sighed and rolled his optics. "C'mon," he groused. "Let's get this dummy to the medbay."

* * *

><p>Prowler didn't realize how difficult posing for Streaker would be. He'd thought it would be easy – strike a pose, or sit still for however long it took. Don't move. Don't fidget. He could deal with that.<p>

He couldn't deal with Streaker's unwavering gaze, his complete and undivided attention. All of Streaker's being was focused on Prowler. First, on posing him perfectly. Prowler had just about snapped, had just about gone and done something to ruin everything. Streaker had sat him down at the porthole, turning his helm this way and that, adjusting his chin, gazing into his optics. Prowler's throat had gone dry, his spark had nearly guttered, and his palms burned and quaked. He dented the chair, holding onto the frame to keep his hands to himself. Primus, he was unbelievable! There were no lows that his depravity would sink to. His brother wanted to create something, wanted to sketch his brother from the kindness of his spark, and Prowler's thoughts turned to darkness.

Ashamed, he'd focused on the furthest star outside the porthole, staring until his optics blurred and static crawled across his vision. Streaker's gaze was fixed, burning into him, and Prowler didn't think he'd survive the sketch.

When Streaker finally finished, Prowler had mangled the chair frame, crushing the edges beneath his hands. He stood quickly, hiding the damage, and then hid his damaged palms behind his back. He tried to clear his vision, tried to unclench his gears.

Streaker passed him the sketch pad. He was nervous, biting his lip. His optics were gleaming, though, hiding something in their depths.

Prowler stared at Streaker's sketch. His brother had drawn a mech that didn't exist. He'd drawn a handsome mech, strong features and a commanding presence. A gaze that pierced the starlight, optics hungry. Yearning. Yearning, in every part of his face, every piece of his frame. "Streaker," he breathed. "This isn't me."

"This is how I see you," Streaker said. "And yes, that is you." His hand rose, tracing Prowler's face, his profile. "That is exactly you."

Prowler moved before he knew it. He grabbed Streaker's hand, catching it in the cradle of his palm. Shocked, he froze, staring at Streaker as Streaker stared back at him. His thumb rubbed circles in Streaker's palm.

"Thanks," Prowler breathed. He couldn't let go of Streaker's hand.

"You're welcome," Streaker said. He grinned, biting his lip. His helm fins were right here, so close, so tantalizing close, and all Prowler had to do was reach out, just one touch, one gentle touch couldn't hurt, right?

Prowler jerked back, shaking out his hand. "I, ah, have to go check in at ops," he lied. "I want to check on Hope and Jazz. And Hot Spot."

"I can come with you." Streaker started to clean up his gear.

"No!" Prowler backed away, heading for the door. "No! I'll… I'll be right back. It won't take long. Why don't you just get ready for recharge?"

Streaker watched as Prowler stumbled out of his quarters and headed the wrong way, away from the ops deck. Sighing, Streaker collapsed to Prowler's berth.

His optics caught on Prowler's recharge mat.

He buried his helm in his hands as he pitched forward, rocking himself slowly.

* * *

><p>Prowler curled himself into a ball in his office, in the dark, hiding behind his desk. He was acting like a sparkling, but he didn't care. He couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop trembling. He'd fly apart if he moved, he knew he would. He was going to do something terrible, something awful. <em>Why?<em> Why did he have to be like his parents? Why was he so fixated on Streaker? Why did he have to be broken, too? Gulping, Prowler tried desperately not to sob. He heaved, dragging great gasps of air through his vents, struggling to calm himself.

Nothing worked. Streaker's optics, his smile, the scent of his plating all swam in Prowler's processor. He pitched to his side, falling over, and buried his helm in the decking.

He wished he'd never, ever been sparked.

* * *

><p>Streaker didn't move when Prowler crept back into his quarters.<p>

Far, far past midnight, and way past when Streaker had given up waiting and had turned to recharge, Prowler finally slinked back in. He stood at the base of Streaker's berth, staring at his brother.

Streaker didn't breathe. He didn't move. His spark pounded, pulsing furiously.

Finally, Prowler headed for the washroom, and Streaker faded offline just before the sound of metal slapping hard on metal echoed through the quarters.

* * *

><p>The All Hands meeting called the next morning was completely unannounced.<p>

Autobots filed in from every sector, confusion and curiosity warring in their faces. Prowl had comm'd Prowler and told him to specifically bring Streaker, so the two hung out near the back of the ops deck, away from the mass of Autobots and trying to stay out of the way. The Protectobots hovered together, tired optics telling of a recharge-less night spent in the medbay. Hope nursed a cube of energon, equally exhausted.

Jazz spoke first, relaying the news of Hot Spot's successful rescue and his recovery in the medbay. Hot Spot was a friendly mech. Not overly close with any particular mechs, he was nonetheless liked, and the cheers and applause was genuine and sparkfelt.

Prowl spoke next, speaking to the construction time tables, to the medical mission – nearly complete, save for analyzing one more mech's scans for compatibility – and to the future of the station.

At that, Prowl smiled. His optics searched the ops deck. When he found Prowler, he beamed. "Everyone," he said. "Please join me in congratulating our next promotion. Prowler, the Executive Officer of this Moonbase."

The ops deck exploded, cheers and applause bursting from every corner of the room. Streaker shouted with joy, gripping onto Prowler's arm and squeezing tight. He leaned up, pressing a kiss to Prowler's shocked faceplates, then threw his arms around his neck, squeezing tight.

Prowler's spark sank, dropping to the base of his struts. He held Prowl's gaze as the ops deck faded away, and he mouthed back one single word. "No."


	7. Chapter 7

**Unforeseen Seven**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Warning for Intensity<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I don't deserve this, Prowl!" Prowler was nearly shouting, frantic in Prowl's office. He'd frozen on the ops deck as the congratulations rained down on him, then had shuffled into Prowl's office as everyone filed out. Streaker had been beaming at him, so full of pride and joy, and it broke Prowler's spark to be on the receiving end of so much happiness.<p>

He didn't deserve this. Not at all.

"Prowler, there is no one who works harder than you do." Prowl smiled at Prowler. "You remind me of me when I was younger." He chuckled. "And, like many mechs told me back then, I am going to tell you – you need to take a break. You're amazing. Fantastic. Your work is perfect and you _do_ deserve this promotion." Prowl tilted his helm, smiling at the mech he considered almost another mechlet. "You also need to take some time for yourself."

Standing, Prowl cut off Prowler's objections. "Streaker is up on the Moonbase for the first time. First time to the moon, even. Take a crawler and show him the moon. Take the day. Enjoy yourself." He smiled again. "Just be back in time for your party tonight."

"Party?" Prowler said, his voice weak.

"We have always celebrated the achievements in our ranks. You are no exception. Tonight, in the lounge. We'll celebrate." Prowl gripped Prowler's shoulder. "I am so very proud of you."

Gaping, Prowler tried to speak. He tried to find the words to convince Prowl that he was an abomination, an utter failure, and that he was as far from deserving of Prowl's affection as any mech ever could be. Nothing came. He sagged beneath Prowl's touch. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

* * *

><p>Hot Spot came online with a splitting processor ache and no feeling in his limbs. Groaning, he tried to focus, but all he could see were lights burning down into his optics. He tried to block out the pain, but couldn't move. He tried to twist his helm, but the grinding of his gears and the sudden shock of white-hot agony lancing down his struts made him freeze. He exhaled, holding still, in case he was about to fall apart.<p>

A dark blob moved to block the lights. "Ah, you're coming online," a voice said, seeming so far away. Hot Spot frowned. He knew that voice. If he could just focus a bit more…

"… really have jacked yourself up this time," the voice was finishing. His optics flickered, struggling to focus. Finally, they jumped back into sync, catching on the edge of the medbay terminal above his helm. The world blossomed into crystal clarity all around Hot Spot and he found himself flat on his back, staring up at Hope. "You big dummy," Hope said, smiling.

"Dummy?" Hot Spot frowned.

Hope nodded. "The biggest dummy," he said again. "You've always insisted on going out on those survey missions all by yourself. You're damn lucky that we were able to get there in time." Hope leaned up against Hot Spot's medberth. "How are you feeling?"

"Like my shuttle exploded around me." Hot Spot let his optics fade offline. "What happened?"

"Well, pretty much that. We were hoping you could give us some more info." Hope adjusted the drip lines, increasing the pain meds flowing down into Hot Spot's systems. "Jazz got your automated distress call after your shuttle exploded. We were out there as soon as we could." He waited, watching Hot Spot's systems try and settle down. "Do you have any idea who attacked you?"

Hot Spot grunted as he tried to shake his helm. "It happened so fast," he mumbled. "They came from behind…" His vocalizer trailed off. "Seemed familiar. But also, not." He swallowed. "Doesn't make sense."

Hope patted Hot Spot's arm, avoiding the static bandages. He and First Aid had cleaned and bandaged all of Hot Spot's injuries during the night. They had longer repairs and more surgeries ahead, repairs to his hip, his shoulder, and his peripheral lines, but those would come in time. "Get some rest," Hope said gently.

Hot Spot's hand shot out, grabbing Hope. "Thank you," he whispered, "for coming to get me."

"Anytime, dummy." Hope smiled down at Hot Spot as Hot Spot snorted and fell offline.

* * *

><p>Streaker was incorrigible with his excitement over Prowler's promotion. He was glowing, beaming, far too proud for his despicable brother. His joy sent Prowler into a deeper funk, and he retreated into his processor, wrapping himself in silence and misery.<p>

Prowler mechanically checked out a crawler and loaded a gear box, rifle, and spare rations into the back of the two-person scout buggy as Streaker happily babbled on about how he knew Prowler was always destined for greatness, and wasn't he just saying that Prowler's office was clearly the Second in Command's office anyway? Prowler peeled out of the Moonbase hangar faster than was necessary, leaving burning tracks of rubber on the hangar floor and kicking up a plume of moon dust as he fishtailed onto the surface.

Prowler drove them hard and fast off the Lunar South Pole, heading for the Shoemaker Crater and the humans' gigantic hydrogen mines. Streaker gaped, and then they were off to Malapert Mountain. Streaker gazed at the stars with a smile until he offlined his optics and stretched out his arms, almost like wings. Prowler gunned the engine to redline and Streaker laughed out loud.

Cheating, Prowler drove them halfway up Malapert. Streaker dragged his hands in the moon dust, leaning out of the crawler. He pointed out the foot prints of 'bots and humans, others who had worked for the summit. Prowler pulled off and parked the crawler, then motioned for Streaker to lead the way to the top. He trudged behind his brother, hating himself for every dark-optic'd look he sent his brother's way.

Streaker summited before Prowler. He stood at the peak, staring up at Earth, and, in the distance, the sun. Yellow starlight streamed over his body as he offlined his optics and smiled. Prowler kept his distance, standing apart as he watched the Earth, nearly full, pass overhead. Solar wind swept by at the summit, electric tingles sparking over their decompression mods and curling around their frames.

Dropping his helm, Prowler swallowed as he idly dug a hole in the moon dust with his feet.

"Prowler?"

Prowler cringed. He could feel his brother's optics on him, even without looking. "Yeah?" He didn't look up.

"Why aren't you happy?"

Silence. Prowler dug deeper, shifting moon dust beneath his feet.

"Not just right now. Not just this promotion. In your whole life, it seems, you're miserable. I have so few memories of you actually happy. And they're all from when I was really young. You cut me out of your life and things have never been the same since." Streaker was moving, heading for Prowler. Prowler stiffened, trying to turn away. "Why?" Streaker whispered. "I miss you. I want to be closer to you. Please don't push me away like you've always done."

"Streaker…" Prowler swallowed. A gust of solar wind crackled over their plating, shooting sparks down their arms. Streaker shivered, his optics fading briefly. Prowler's spark hammered in his chest, and all he wanted to do was bury himself in Streaker's arms, confess everything, ask for one kiss, just one, and then fling himself from the summit. "I'm…" _A terrible mech. Not the brother you think you have. Disgusting. Ready to die. Ready for this all to end._ "Just tired," he finished lamely. _Tired of living with this. _

"You're lying to me," Streaker said. He smiled sadly. "I know you are. But I'm not going to give up on you." He reached for Prowler, taking his hand and threading their fingers together. "I'm always going to be here for you. When you decide you're ready, I'll be here."

Prowler was so close, so close to bursting, to shattering, and he offlined his optics as he inhaled, shaking. He opened his mouth, about to speak, about to say something, anything, and definitely the wrong thing.

A warning light flashed in his HUD. Their mods were at half power and they'd need to return to the base or set up a compression tent. Prowler snapped his mouth shut. "We have to head back," he finally said. He turned away from Streaker. "Let's go."

Streaker watched him head down the mountainside. He turned his helm back toward the sun, trying to let the light banish away the cloying fear, the dark stickiness that was coating his spark.

* * *

><p>"<em>Autobot designation: Hope."<em> Typing into the medbay terminal, Hope searched for his medical records. A short pause, and his folder pulled up with a bing. Hope clicked through the reports.

Incomplete. They only went back to his young mechlethood. Frowning, Hope expanded the database search. Again, incomplete records. He searched for Fawn instead and came back instantly with Fawn's complete medical record, all the way to his sparkling measurements and the temperament of his parents when he emerged.

Frowning, Hope typed in Prowler's name.

Another incomplete record. Links to deactivated records. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's records were inaccessible entirely. Prowler's records began at his first year, and the first entry stated: _"Surgical transfusion repairs healed. Long term damages doubtful." _

Hope flicked back to his own records. He scanned to the first entry. _"Development now in line with observed normal sparkling timeframes – age 5 years." _

The first five years of his medical records were gone. Hope stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the words. Development now in line? What had happened to him when he was a sparkling? Had he been deformed? Broken?

"Whatcha up to?" First Aid leaned against Hope's doorframe, stretching his neck.

Hope jumped. He stared up at First Aid, guilt pouring from his optics. "Nothing." He minimized the folders quickly. "Just research." First Aid had been on Ratchet's staff for Hope's entire life. He would know. He _did _know. And he'd never said. Was that because it was nothing? Or because it was so huge that Hope wasn't supposed to know? Jazz had said he'd almost lost Hope. Had he been sick? Some kind of virus? Processor damage?

What had happened?

"Well, if you're up to it, what do you think about starting in on Hot Spot's first reconstructive surgery?" First Aid looked back to Hot Spot, lying offline on the medberth with lines of energon, sedatives, and pain meds flowing into him. "I know he would want to get out of here as fast as possible. I can start reattaching his peripheral lines, if you have the time to help."

Nodding, Hope pushed himself up. "Yeah, I can help." They weren't supposed to start until tomorrow, but First Aid was right. Hot Spot would be a right grouch when he onlined, and the sooner he was on the mend, the better.

Following First Aid into the surgical suite, Hope pulled out his set of tools as First Aid set up his own station. He froze, a single thought blazing through him. _Jazz has never said anything about my emergence. _He'd never heard stories about his emergence day, never had been told of his parents' joy at holding him close for the first time. Every emergence he'd been a part of had been a joyous occasion, parents smiling and holding their sparkling close, kissing their mucky frame and rubbing at the sparkling's chubby cheeks.

Jazz had never said anything about Hope's emergence. Nor Prowl.

Hope eyed First Aid. "Hey, 'Aid?" First Aid hummed as he stretched, reaching for his gold clamps on the high shelf. "Do you remember my emergence day?"

The crate First Aid was reaching for clattered to the floor. Gold clamps scattered, flying across the decking with plinks and clangs. First Aid stumbled, bracing himself on a side table, his back to Hope. _The smell of burning energon, melting metal. Jazz seizing beneath his hands, the shock stick digging into Jazz's spark, trying to force Hope's spark to separate from Jazz. Energon everywhere, on the floor, so slick and thick he couldn't keep his feet. Ratchet shouting, hollering to shock Jazz again, again, and the desperate dark look in his optics that already knew today was the day they were going to lose._

Breathing hard, First Aid shook his helm. "What?" he asked.

Hope stared at the back of First Aid's helm. "Okay, that definitely happened, 'Aid. I'm not going to pretend it didn't."

First Aid barely looked over his shoulder. "It's not my story to tell," he said. His voice was dark, husky.

"Why are my medical records missing?"

First Aid hung his helm. "Because we knew you'd look one day. And that's not how we wanted you to know."

"Wanted me to know what?" Hope slammed his tray of tools down on the surgical berth.

First Aid turned and walked away, leaving the surgical suite and Hope behind. "I told you," he said, pausing at the door. "It's not my story to tell." He drummed his fingers on the door frame. "I… need to postpone Hot Spot's surgery. I'll come back later this afternoon." And with that, First Aid fled, nearly tearing from the medbay without a glance back toward his brother or Hope.

Hope stared after his retreating frame, his optics dark and hooded.

* * *

><p>The last thing Prowler wanted was a party.<p>

He didn't want anyone looking at him, didn't want anyone toasting his achievements or his fabulous work ethic, or, worse yet, his character. He didn't want to feel Streaker at his side, didn't want to see his beautiful smile, or hear his voice dancing down his struts, circling in the base of his tanks.

But, what he wanted was irrelevant. Prowl and Jazz had tables pushed together and a spread of energon platters laid out for the base crew. The party was mostly in full swing by the time Prowler was dragged in by Streaker. Cheers rose, more applause, and then a column of high grade was pushed into his and Streaker's hands. Prowler's hand clenched down on the column, nearly fracturing the glass.

He wasn't a lush, didn't chase the high grade. He and Hope grabbed a drink when they needed to vent, needed to let off steam, but that had been once in a while. Despite how much he hated himself, Prowler had never escaped in the bottom of a barrel, never chased the energon fairy. But, as the mechs around him laughed and partied, smiled and celebrated, and as Streaker moved from mech to mech, smiling and laughing and catching up with his newfound friends, Prowler felt himself disappear. The world and everything in it spun forward, spinning on without him, and he was lost in a sea of mechs, alone in a crowded room, screaming in silence at the top of his vocalizer, and not a soul heard him. He stumbled toward a chair and collapsed into it, his hands shaking. High grade spilled onto his wrist. He stared at the vibrant neon liquid, swirling energies crashing together. His optics darted to his column.

Prowler downed the column in one long pull. He'd never been a lush, but frag it, he'd never felt this destroyed, either. Maybe he could escape, obliterate himself on high grade and then pass out and wake up when it was all over.

He grabbed another column of high grade and pulled it close. Across the lounge, Streaker was laughing with Silverbolt. Sky Dive stood with his brother, introducing himself to Streaker, and Prowler watched them shake hands. His engine growled, watching another mech touch Streaker.

With a sigh, Prowler took another long pull from his high grade.

* * *

><p>Hot Spot woke again with Hope humming next to his helm. He groaned. "That song is going to be in my helm for days."<p>

"Good." Hope grinned down at him. He set down whatever he was doing at Hot Spot's hip. "How are you feeling?"

"A little less like a shuttle landing pad. More like a slingball court."

"Well, that sounds like an improvement." Hope shook his helm. "From shuttle explosion to slingball court. You always have the best descriptions of your wellness."

"'Feeling like ten pounds of fresh air' is a great way to say I'm feeling fine!" Hot Spot grinned, despite everything. His last physical had been with Hope and Hope had had no end of teasing Hot Spot over his country euphemisms.

"I put that in your medical record, you know. It's immortalized for all time."

"Good!" Hot Spot tried to nod, but winced. "So, what's the butcher's bill?"

Sighing, Hope leaned against his medberth, crossing his arms. "Well, right now your peripheral systems are still offline. 'Aid's going to reattach your connections, whenever he decides to return." Hope rolled his optics. Hot Spot frowned. "And," Hope continued. "You're pretty banged up. Hip's all broken. Your chest, on your right side, is crushed." He patted the medberth. "You'll be my guest for a while, Hot Spot."

"Oh goody." Hot Spot grinned. "You'll be desperate to kick me out in two days flat. Guaranteed."

"I've heard of your rep as an awful patient." Hope waved his clamps in Hot Spot's face. "But, Dummy, I'll have you know that you will not beat me." He held Hot Spot's grin, smiling back down at the Protectobot.

"That sounds like a challenge."

"Maybe it is."

"I'll have to up my game. Be extra petulant." Hot Spot tried to smother his chuckle. "Five pounds of irascible in a four pound bag."

"More like five tons of big baby." Hope winked down at Hot Spot and turned back to his hip joint. "Do I need to put you back under as I fix your joint?"

"I'm going to lodge a complaint with my brother," Hot Spot grumbled. "The help in his medbay is just terrible."

"The help!" Hope glared at Hot Spot.

Hot Spot chuckled. "'Aid will never admit it, but he thinks you're an amazing medic." He winced, rolling his helm.

Hope was silent. "Alright, your pain meds are definitely too high," he finally said. He turned back to Hot Spot's hip joint, trying to distract his processor from skipping down that path. "So. Tell me about your survey mission."

"Huh?"

"Tell me about your mission. If I can keep you yammering, you might actually survive your confinement, despite yourself."

"Not much to tell, I blew up pretty quickly. Almost bought the farm."

Hope sighed, shaking his helm. "Tell me about another one then."

Hot Spot hummed, letting his optics power down. "Did I ever tell you about the Centauri system?"

"You've never told me about any of your missions." Hot Spot had always been the most distant of First Aid's brothers. Present, good for a laugh, told a fun joke every now and then, but he'd never been close to anyone. Hope had befriended the rest of First Aid's brothers, but Hot Spot had always been politely distant.

"Well, you're in for a walloping good time." Hot Spot grinned as Hope groaned. "Respect your elders, you whippersnapper."

"Don't make me laugh and accidentally sever your neural lines."

"You wanna keep me in the medbay forever? I'm touched. You must love my stories."

"I wouldn't know, you haven't started one."

"I was gonna, but you were being a brat."

Hope glared at Hot Spot. His smile burst through his glare, and he shook his helm, laughing. "Just get on with it."

"Am I close to being thrown out yet?" Hot Spot smiled at Hope's profile, onlining one optic.

"Not even."

"Shucks."

"So. Centauri?"

"Cool your jets, I'm getting there, I'm getting there."

"I'll be old and rusted before you start."

"Maybe then you'll have some respect for your elders."

"You can't win, Hot Spot," Hope threatened. He hummed into his hip joint, reframing the broken struts. "I played this game with Prowl." He arched an optic ridge toward the Protectobot. "And I would win."

"Mmm," Hot Spot rumbled. "You have a point. Like the tip of a pine needle."

Hope rolled his optics.

"So, Centauri…" Hot Spot sighed. "It's a binary system, but Proxima Centauri orbits the binary cluster. So the whole system is a fun lil' gyroscope. Great minerals and materials. I orbited the third planet for about a week…"

Hot Spot rumbled on, one story bleeding into the next until he took a longer pause than usual and fell into recharge while searching for his next tale.

Hope smiled down at him, cupping his helm gently. "Big dummy," he whispered.

* * *

><p>Prowler was trashed. He'd never been this trashed. He didn't even feel real anymore. Reality was spinning and everything felt fake. Over bright. Rootless. He was slumped in his seat at one of the lounge tables, trying to watch the party without being a part of it. He'd lost track of Streaker a while ago, which had only made him drink more.<p>

"Hey." A giggle next to him made Prowler turn his helm. Streaker was kneeling down next to him, giggling. "Have you ever played Roots?" Streaker's optics were far too bright, lined with white, and there was a sheen to his optics that hadn't been there earlier. He was overcharged, Prowler knew it. He'd let his brother get overcharged.

Sighing, Prowler leaned back, resting his arm on the back of his chair. "Yeah," he said. His voice was way too deep. He didn't care. What else could go wrong tonight?

"Cool!" Streaker waved his friends over. Silverbolt, Sky Dive, and Tailgate all came, pulling out chairs and settling down at Prowler's table. "We saw you were alone," Streaker said. "Thought we'd play a game with you. I don't know how to play this one, though."

Frowning, Streaker looked left and right, searching for a chair for him. The mechs who had joined had snagged the chairs left around the table, and all the other chairs were scattered around the lounge. "Whoops," he said, shrugging.

Sky Dive opened his mouth, ready to offer his chair. Prowler frowned and grabbed Streaker around the waist. He tugged, pulling Streaker down into his lap, sideways. Streaker slid, unsteady, and grabbed Prowler around the neck. "Whoa!" He giggled. Gazing into Prowler's optics, Streaker bit his lip and cocked his head, shyly ducking his blazing optics.

"You can sit here." Prowler patted Streaker's thigh, almost but not quite touching his aft.

Sky Dive shut his mouth as Tailgate started dealing. Streaker left one arm around Prowler's shoulders as he helped Prowler organize the cards. Prowler leaned close, resting his forehelm on Streaker's as he whispered in his brother's audial the rules of the game and what kind of hand they had been dealt. Streaker hung on every word, giggling as Prowler growled under his breath and plotted against the others. His dark optics flashed, playing card after card, and as the first game drew to a close, Prowler was named victor.

Tailgate shuffled the cards again as Streaker beamed down at his brother. From his perch on Prowler's lap, he was taller than his brother, for once. Prowler had to look up, and when he did, Streaker's vents shorted.

There was no bottom to Prowler's gaze, no end to the depth of his optics. Unbridled want, unrestrained yearning tore from him, mixed with agony, anguish, and an emotion Streaker knew all too well.

Streaker stroked his hand down the back of Prowler's helm, unseen. Prowler's optics blazed as his mouth fell open. He exhaled, his breath ghosting over Streaker's plating. His hands gripped down, squeezing on Streaker's thighs.

"Yo!" Tailgate flicked a card at Prowler's helm. "We playing?" He grinned at Prowler. "Or are you so drunk you can't see straight." Tailgate, drunk himself, elbowed Sky Dive. "He's gonna freak when he sobers up. Bet he thinks that's Hope." Silverbolt snorted, but Sky Dive smiled thinly, watching Streaker and Prowler with hooded optics.

Prowler flicked the card back at Tailgate. "Get ready to lose again," he chuckled. He kept one hand on Streaker, his thumb stroking his brother's thigh, slowly, slowly dropping until he was cupping his aft, unseen under the table. The other hand held half his cards as Streaker held the other half in his one hand.

Streaker's other hand played with the back of Prowler's neck, tickling over his plating, drawing swirls and scratching lightly at the back of his helm.

Prowler won, but barely. The mechs groaned and Prowler squeezed Streaker's aft as he beamed.

Tailgate slapped at the table. "Well, I'm done for the night. He's tanked and he's still winning." Tailgate winked at Silverbolt. "Though, not for long." The two mechs laughed as they stood.

"See you later, Streaker." Silverbolt waved at the yellow mech. Streaker nodded and waved back, then wrapped his arms around Prowler's shoulders again. Prowler had moved his hands up to Streaker's waist, loosely hanging on.

Sky Dive stood quietly. He tore his optics away, following Silverbolt as the larger flyer left the lounge. Looking back, Sky Dive spied Streaker and Prowler staring into each other's optics, seemingly frozen together, almost breathing as one.

Prowler swallowed and forced himself to look away from Streaker. "The chairs are free," he mumbled.

"I'm comfortable here." Streaker's fingers tickled at Prowler's audial.

Prowler turned back, slowly. "Are you?" he growled. Static underlay his words, dark and burning.

"Actually…" Streaker leaned close, breathing into Prowler's audial. "I'd like to get out of here."

Prowler nearly offlined, nearly choked and lost it right then. He gripped Streaker tight, fingers denting his plating as he inhaled, ragged and harsh. What was happening? This wasn't Streaker. This wasn't reality. There was no world where he got what he wanted, where Streaker would look at him with anything other than pure, utter disdain at finding out what Prowler wanted, so desperately, from him.

Prowler pushed Streaker up. Streaker stumbled, reaching for Prowler, but found his feet.

Prowler tangled his hands in Streaker's. Their optics fixed together, darkness and light. The lounge was still crawling with mechs, still filled with laughter, but Prowler nearly pressed a kiss to Streaker's knuckles. He burned, staring at his brother. His spark was screaming, thrashing and begging to be released, begging to be free.

"Prowler!" Jazz slid to the brother's sides. "Congrats!" His optics darted to their conjoined hands before flashing away. "Havin' a good time?"

Streaker nodded. "This is a pretty cool place. I can see why Prowler likes it up here."

"Well, it's a good place because Prowler does a lot of great work to keep it going." Jazz slung and arm around Prowler's shoulders and squeezed, giving him a one-armed hug that broke the brother's hand-hold. "We're very proud of him."

Prowler looked down, staring at the decking.

"You alright?" Jazz shook Prowler gently.

"M'overcharged," Prowler said. He flashed a quick glance to Jazz, apologetic. "I should leave."

Jazz nodded. "No worries, mech. Take your time." He nodded to Streaker. "Can you get your brother back to his quarters?" He gripped Prowler's hand and held it out to Streaker.

Streaker laced his fingers through his brother's and pulled Prowler close. "No problem."

* * *

><p>The stumble back to Prowler's quarters took too long. Streaker was too quiet. Prowler's processor was blazing, a million thoughts and a million fears burning through his lines.<p>

Each step felt more unreal than the last. Each thought felt more dangerous, each flicker of his optics more dark. He struggled to hold his spark in, to hold his disgusting danger back, but he could feel his control slipping.

Streaker stayed at his side, one arm wrapped around his waist. Prowler wrapped an arm around him in return, feeling his warm, smooth plating beneath his palm.

Finally, they were at Prowler's quarters, and Prowler hesitated before he palmed the door open. Streaker leaned against the bulkhead, resting his shoulder and his helm against the wall. He grinned, lopsided, his optics bright with charge.

"You asked me," Prowler started. He swallowed. His hands clenched, unclenched. His spark was blazing, bursting. He felt like he was flying, like he'd leapt from Malapert. Streaker was smiling at him like he smiled at the sun. Prowler licked his lips. "You asked me," he said again, his voice dark, "what made me happy."

Streaker straightened, reaching for Prowler's hand. "Yes?"

Prowler grabbed Streaker's hand and tugged, pulling his brother close, flush against his burning plating. He pushed him back, pressing him against the bulkhead, and ground his hips against Streaker's. "Primus," Prowler whispered. His optics bleached white as he trembled. "It's you," he breathed, whimpering. "You make me happy."

Streaker gaped. He tried to move, tried to shift, but Prowler had him pinned. "Prowler-"

"I want you, Streaker," Prowler breathed. His voice was shaking now, nearly breaking. "I want you so badly. I want to hold you close, make you mine. I want you to-" He stopped, looking down, and heaved a shaky inhale.

Streaker managed to tug his hands free. He cupped Prowler's face, pulling his gaze back up to meet his optics. "What do you want from me?"

Breathing hard, Prowler gritted his denta. He cursed through clenched gears, then pounded his fists into the bulkhead next to Streaker's helm. Streaker didn't flinch.

"I want," Prowler breathed, "for you to love me."

Slowly, Streaker smiled. "I already do," he whispered.

And that was it for Prowler. All of his defenses, all of his barricades, all of his holding back, every one of his desperate pleas with himself to be better than what he was, to not give in, to never, ever let his darkness consume him disappeared. Evaporated, blown away, crushed with the force of his desire and strength of his yearning, and the simple purity that was Streaker. He moaned, crushing his lips to Streaker's, and captured his brother in a spark-deep kiss.

Streaker's arms wound around Prowler's neck, grabbing the back of his helm. He pulled him close, wrapping a leg around Prowler's thigh. Prowler jerked, grinding his hips into Streaker's, and Streaker moaned into their kiss.

Fumbling, Prowler slapped at the door pad. He hefted Streaker into his arms, carrying his brother into his quarters. Streaker wrapped his legs around Prowler's waist as he dove down for another kiss, cupping his face and stroking Prowler's cheeks. Prowler gasped into Streaker's kiss, then growled. He nipped at Streaker's lips, then suckled his neck, mouthing down his plating. Streaker arched against his kisses, shuddering.

Prowler reached his berth and laid Streaker down, never breaking his lips' exploration of his brother's body. Streaker writhed under Prowler's kisses, his hands grasping at the berth. A long moan, and then a gasp, as Prowler found Streaker's interface cover.

Streaker tasted more amazing than Prowler had ever dreamed.

Streaker screamed Prowler's name when he overloaded, and Prowler pressed a wet kiss to his thigh before crawling up his brother's frame. Prowler's interface cover was off, his spike hard and charged. Streaker grabbed Prowler, pulling him down for a deep, panting kiss, and angled his hips up toward his brother's spike.

Shaking, Prowler pressed his forehelm to Streaker's as he slid in to his brother's body. Streaker trembled, his optics offlining, and Prowler gathered his brother close. He rocked slowly, burying his face in Streaker's neck, until Streaker's hands scraping at his back begged for more.

Prowler thrust until he thought his struts would crack, then thrust harder. Streaker jerked and shuddered, overloading over and over on Prowler's spike. Prowler couldn't stop. It was better than anything he'd ever dreamt, anything he'd ever fantasized about in his sick, depraved mind.

Finally, Streaker rolled them over, settling himself on top of Prowler, and ground himself down onto his brother's spike. Prowler arched, his fingers denting Streaker's thighs, his hips, and he pistoned himself into Streaker's valve until he felt his overload build from the depth of his soul, from the base of his struts. He shrieked, shouting Streaker's name and swearing to Primus, begging Streaker for forgiveness and telling him he loved him all at once as overload burned through him. He filled Streaker, pouring his desperation and his failure into his valve, and the aftershocks quaked through him as Streaker kept grinding, kept gripping and squeezing at his spike with his too-tight valve, and kept smiling down at him.

Prowler tumbled Streaker over and slid back in, growling in his audial. Streaker laughed and met his thrusts, kissing him senseless.

When they passed out, failure and shame stained their plating, and Streaker was curled against Prowler's chestplate as Prowler held his brother close.

* * *

><p>Prowler onlined first.<p>

His helm was pounding, his processor was sluggish, and his throat was dry and cracked. _Primus, no more high grade, ever._ His optics flickered, trying to power on.

He saw transfluid. He saw transfluid _everywhere_. Prowler jerked, suddenly way more online than he'd been a moment before. Next to him, Streaker hummed in recharge, readjusting as Prowler pulled away.

Transfluid covered his brother's plating. _Covered_ his plating.

"No, no, no, no…" Prowler breathed as he backed away, skirting away from the mess on the berth. He teetered on the berth edge and nearly fell. Holding his breath, Prowler froze, staring at Streaker. _Primus, don't online! _Hishands shook, clattering, and he tried to scratch at the dried transfluid on his plating, on his frame. His interface cover was off, and Prowler fumbled on the ground, trying to find it.

"Prowler…" Streaker breathed his brother's name in recharge. Prowler's optics blanched. Streaker rolled over, rolling away from Prowler, and stayed offline.

Prowler collapsed, burying his helm in his hands. He was screaming inside, shaking outside, and he knew, he absolutely knew, that he'd just destroyed everything.

He crawled into the washroom and turned on the spigot. The water drowned out the sound of his sobs, and he curled under the cold water until the dried transfluid started to flake off and float away, trying to erase history down his drain.

* * *

><p>Streaker onlined later to empty quarters.<p>

He stretched, then winced. He smiled at the pull in his systems. Finally, he'd finally gotten through to his brother. He'd wondered for years about the way Prowler looked at him. He'd hoped, he'd desperately hoped. But, he couldn't push. He wouldn't push, he'd just wait patiently for Prowler to open up to him, and if he had been wrong… Streaker shrugged. He hadn't been wrong. His brother felt the same.

There was no thought to consequences, to boundaries, to right and wrong. Streaker had always loved his brother. There had never been a time when he hadn't. He didn't know anything different. Prowler had been the North Star in his sky for as long as he'd been alive.

And now, they were finally on the same page.

Smiling, Streaker rolled over, hoping to find Prowler.

He found a data pad.

He turned it on. Read the screen.

Streaker hurled the data pad across Prowler's quarters, screaming. He flung Prowler's pillow next, then swept his arm across Prowler's berthside table, sending the lamp and Prowler's data pads flying. Heaving, Streaker stood in the center of Prowler's quarters as trembles shook his frame.

His optics fixed on Prowler's desk. His empty desk.

Every picture, every drawing, every painting had been removed. Streaker tore across the room, pulling out desk drawers and dumping the contents. He was shaking, panting, and by the time he'd dumped Prowler's desk to the floor, he was on his knees, gulping for air and sobbing.

There were no more pictures. Everything was gone.

* * *

><p>"What is this?" Streaker brandished the data pad as he barreled into Prowler's office. He was shaking, and his vocalizer faded and warbled.<p>

Prowler didn't look up. "Your itinerary. You're leaving. Today."

"What?" Streaker searched for words, panting. "What are you talking about? After last night-"

"Don't." Prowler growled. His optics blazed, staring at his terminal. "Don't even."

"Don't even what? Say that we made love all night long." Prowler shuddered, clenching his jaw. "We did!" Streaker shouted. "And you said you loved me!"

Prowler shook his helm. "Your transport is waiting. You're going back to Earth." He still wouldn't look at Streaker. "You should forget what happened here."

"I should forget…" Streaker gaped, his mouth opening and closing. "Are you insane?"

"You need to leave," Prowler growled. His hands were clenching into fists, barely holding back his shaking.

"I'm not going anywhere-"

"You need to leave!" Prowler shouted. "Now!" His optics flashed, burning as he finally looked at Streaker.

Streaker's devastated optics tore into Prowler. "Why?" Streaker hissed.

"Because." Prowler inhaled deep, refocusing on his terminal. "Get out."

Standing there, Streaker felt his spark shatter, felt his love for his brother, nurtured through all the long years, melt and burn, felt his optics turn to sand and his hope to ash. "I loved you," he whispered.

"No, you didn't. You have no idea what happened." Prowler's jaw clenched. "I told you to get out. Now."

Streaker backed out of Prowler's office, no longer recognizing the mech he called a brother. Had wanted to call a lover. The mech who had held him, had kissed him, had made love to him and had begged him to love him back, just the night before. That mech was gone. A shadow had taken his place, sparkless and loveless.

"Streaker?" Prowl, standing on the catwalk above. "You alright?" He frowned down at the younger brother.

Mute, Streaker nodded and shook his helm, bobbing his helm as his hands trembled and his feet carried him away, stumbling off the ops deck and walking away from the one mech he'd always wanted to run to.

* * *

><p>"Streaker?" Bam Bam was on the <em>Ark's<em> hangar deck when Streaker's shuttle docked later that afternoon. "I didn't know you were headed back today." He checked the shuttle manifest. Streaker wasn't listed.

Streaker shrugged. "Change of plans," he grunted. "Moonbase didn't work out." He thought of Silverbolt, of his stories. His dream of flying and the feel of solar wind on his plating. The view from Malapert, the sunlight caressing Prowler's plating. "Back to reality," he choked out.

"Hey." Bam Bam reached for Streaker, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" His helm fins, identical to Wheeljack's, flashed a worried blue.

"I'm fine," he lied. He tried to smile. Instead, he grimaced, and even he felt ridiculous. "I just need some fresh air." Transforming, Streaker roared out of the hangar, headed for the wastes outside the _Ark_. He drove as fast as he could, until he felt like he was flying and the sand hitting his frame stung less than the sobs breaking his spark. He kept going, until he was out of screams and out of sobs and there was nothing to do but head back home.

* * *

><p>Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were waiting for him.<p>

They were sitting at their table, heads leaned together, talking softly and laughing. Streaker froze as he walked in. They turned to him and smiled, waving him over. "Hey," Sideswipe said. He smiled, his lopsided grin that Streaker had inherited. "We heard you were back on Earth. Just here to grab some supplies?"

Streaker shook his helm. He couldn't speak, couldn't unclench his jaw.

Sunstreaker frowned. "Streaker…" He peered at his mechlet. "What's wrong?"

"Did something happen?" Sideswipe stood, walking around the table. He reached for Streaker.

Streaker jerked away. "Don't touch me," he growled.

Sideswipe's optics blazed. Sunstreaker shot to his feet. "What?" Sideswipe breathed.

"I'm…" Streaker heaved, inhaling a rush of air. Suddenly he couldn't breathe at all, couldn't get any air in, and he was gasping as stumbled, losing his footing and falling to his knees. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker raced to his side, reaching for him. Streaker batted their hands away. "I'm a monster!" he shrieked. He screamed, grabbing his helm as he squeezed his optics shut. "I'm a fragging monster!" he shouted again.

"What happened?" Sideswipe's hands were floating over his mechlet's plating, trying to reach him, trying to touch him. "Primus, Streaker, what happened?" Next to Sideswipe, Sunstreaker hovered, fear lining his dark scowl.

Streaker had finally realized, on the way down from the moon, everything that he'd gambled with his love for Prowler. Everything in their entire world, everything Prowler had built. Their entire relationship. He'd thought that he could take a leap of faith and figure it out on the other side when he landed on solid ground. But, he'd leapt, and there were pits of lava and smelting pits beneath him, black holes ready to swallow him whole. He'd leapt, and there was no ground to land on. Only the eternity of falling, the plunge of despair, and he'd lost everything he'd ever wanted. Even having half of Prowler, even the sullen, moody, wordless Prowler that he'd had before had been better than this, better than being banished in shame, better than knowing he had risked destroying everything his brother had worked for.

"I'm a monster," Streaker hiccupped again, lowering his helm. He squinted at his parents, trying to focus. He could barely see he was so blinded by his rage, his shame, his all-encompassing anguish.

"Baby, no you're not," Sideswipe was saying, speaking fast. "You're anything but a monster, you're amazing, you're wonderful. Tell me what happened. Why are you so upset? What can we do?"

Shuddering, Streaker pitched forward. He rocked himself, wrapping his arms around his body. "I…" He shook his helm, squeezing his optics shut. "I love Prowler," he whispered.

Sideswipe froze. His hands froze, his body froze. His optics blazed, and next to him, Sunstreaker inhaled, hissing.

"And…" Streaker sobbed, swallowed, and covered his mouth. He couldn't look at his parents. "And he loved me. I know he did!"

"Primus…" Sideswipe backed away. He covered his mouth with his shaking hands. "Please, please, no…" He shook his helm as Sunstreaker's fists clenched. "No, no, no…."

Streaker couldn't hear Sideswipe over his heaving sobs. "We made love," Streaker gasped, "and it was the best moment of my life." He screamed through gritted denta. "And he threw me out!" Streaker chanced to open his optics, turning his pleading gaze to his parents. They'd never shunned him, never made him feel ashamed, not once. He was a monster, but he was their monster, and he needed their reassurance now, needed Sideswipe's arms and his promise that everything would be alright.

Instead, Sideswipe rocketed back, crawling away from Streaker. He backed away until he hit the edge of the table, one hand still covering his mouth. "Primus," Sideswipe breathed. "No, no, no, no, no…" He kept repeating his litany as he trembled, as he shook, and his optics blanched as he buried his helm in his hands.

Frantic, Streaker turned to Sunstreaker. "Sunny?" he whispered.

Sunstreaker looked away. He offlined his optics as his fists shook, and Streaker heard the gears grind in his wrist.

Slowly, Streaker lowered his helm as his sobs heaved through his body.

"There's something we have to tell you," Sunstreaker growled. "About us."

* * *

><p>"You're what!" Streaker had backed himself into a corner, standing now and shouting at his parents. "You're brothers?"<p>

"Please!" Sideswipe begged. "Please, try to understand!"

"Understand what?" Streaker shouted. "That everything I am, everything that's happened to me, is because of what you two did?"

Sideswipe tried to reach for Streaker. Streaker shoved his hand away. "You made me like this!"

"We didn't know!" Sideswipe cried. He was shouting, sobbing, shaking, flying apart. He spun, turning to Sunstreaker. "Sunny, please!" He didn't know what he was asking for.

Sunstreaker turned helpless optics to his brother. He clenched his jaw, swallowing. He was silent.

"I've loved Prowler my whole life!" Streaker bellowed. "And now I know why!"

"Streaker…" Sideswipe reached for his mechlet again. "We never knew this would happen! We thought we were just an aberration!"

"Prowler loves me too," Streaker hissed. "I know he does."

"You're right," Sunstreaker grunted. He was looking down. "I'm sure he does, if this happened."

"It fragging did happen!" Streaker hollered at Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker took it, letting the bellow wash over his plating. His cheek twitched.

Streaker heaved, panting. "We were made broken," he hissed. "By you."

Sideswipe collapsed sideways, falling into the bulkhead. He slid down, letting out his sobs. "I'm so sorry," he keened. "Primus, I'm so sorry, so sorry…" He shook his helm. "It's all my fault…"

Sunstreaker grabbed Sideswipe, pulling him into his arms. "It is not," Sunstreaker growled. He shook Sideswipe, hard. "It never was! Stop saying that!"

Sideswipe had no more fight, nothing left to give, and he collapsed against Sunstreaker and into Sunstreaker, falling limp in his arms as he continued to sob.

Sunstreaker finally met Streaker's gaze. "We have to fix this," he grunted.

"How?" Streaker snapped.

"I will not let you and Prowler endure what Sideswipe and I went through for half our lives." Sunstreaker pressed his lips to Sideswipe's helm. All the long years of not speaking, not knowing. Cut off from each other, always circling and wanting more, and never having the struts to speak up.

Streaker was frowning as Sunstreaker finished. "I'm going back to get Prowler."

* * *

><p>Prowler avoided everyone and every place.<p>

He never returned to his quarters. He stayed in his office, locked himself in, and buried himself in the Moonbase. Energon usage reports, construction timetables, deep space surveys. His optics swam with input and his processor went numb. He fell into recharge on his desk, then jerked awake in a nightmare, screaming.

His comms relay buzzed with messages. Prowl, asking if he was alright. Jazz, asking about his high-grade hangover. Hope, congratulating him on his promotion. Nothing else.

Prowler deleted everything. He erased his messages and then offlined his terminal. It was almost morning, just before the first shift, and only a junior ops officer, a mech Prowler had met once, one of the G4's, was on duty. He saluted Prowler as Prowler stumbled off the deck, but Prowler ignored him.

The corridors were empty. He bounced from bulkhead to bulkhead, unable to stand, unable to walk. He was gasping, his plating burned, and Prowler knew that this was what it felt like to die of shame.

He didn't have far to go. There was an armory near the ops deck, tucked away for emergencies and for the officers' use only. He palmed his way in, having to rescan three times. His hands were shaking too much for the reader.

A laser pistol would do. He grabbed it from the rack and collapsed, kneeling on the decking. An openmouthed sob tore through him and he screamed into the decking. Prowler clutched the laser pistol to his chest, turning it around, getting his hands on the grip.

"I'm so sorry," Prowler breathed. "Streaker, I'm so sorry." He gasped, heaving, and offlined his optics.

Slowly Prowler lifted the laser pistol to his mouth. He wrapped his shaking lips around the barrel. His pants left drops of moisture on the laser plating, beads of condensation. His fingers found the trigger.

Should he leave a note? Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would know why he'd done this, why he'd had to destroy the darkness inside of him. They would tell Streaker, if Streaker wasn't delighted at his demise. And Hope? Prowler shook his helm, gritting his denta on the laser's barrel. Hope knew better than anyone how hollow Prowler really was.

He'd lost everything, lost the one person he was living for, and it was all because of his own selfish, terrible darkness. He wouldn't risk hurting Streaker again. Once was too many.

Prowler heaved, inhaled, and started to squeeze.

"Prowl to Prowler."

Jerking, Prowler ripped the laser pistol from his mouth as his finger squeezed down. The laser bolt burned across the outside of his cheek, skirting his helm, and he smelled melted metal and burning energon as pain flared across the side of his face.

"Prowl to Prowler, respond."

"I'm here." Prowler dabbed at his cheek, breathing hard.

"Report to my office immediately." Prowl didn't wait for an answer. He cut the line.

Cursing, Prowler pushed himself to his feet. He subspaced the laser pistol. He'd have to hide it for now. He'd finish the job later. Prowl had no doubt discovered the truth – somehow – and he might go ahead and shoot Prowler on the spot.

Prowler could hope.

He trudged back to the ops deck. Mechs were filling the corridors as the day began and shocked gasps echoed as they saw Prowler's shot-burned face. Prowler ignored everyone, his optics fixed and dark, and pushed on.

Climbing the steps to Prowl's office had never taken so long.

He stared down, inhaling, and palmed his way inside.

Prowler saw Jazz's foot swinging, Jazz perched on the edge of Prowl's desk. He saw Prowl, his fingers steepled and pressed against his lips.

And, he saw Sunstreaker, standing before Prowl and Jazz, his optics so deep and pained they were almost black.

Jazz shot to his feet. "What the slag?" he shouted, staring at Prowler's cheek. "Who shot you?" Prowl's doorwings arched straight up, high and tight, as he burst from his desk.

"He shot himself." Sunstreaker's words froze everyone. Jazz's mouth dropped open as Prowl's optics blanched. "And he's coming home with me."

Swallowing, Prowler crashed to his knees before Sunstreaker, hanging his helm.

Jazz gaped, looking from Sunstreaker to Prowler. It was Prowl who finally spoke. "Prowler," he choked out. "Sunstreaker has requested that you return to Earth for an extended leave. He says there is a family emergency." Prowl peered at his namesake. "I've granted his request."

Sunstreaker stood in front of Prowler. He held out his hand. "We're going home," he grunted. "Now."


	8. Chapter 8

**Unforeseen Eight**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Warning for Intensity.<strong>_

* * *

><p>No one spoke as Sunstreaker hauled Prowler up by his elbow and shoved him out of Prowl's office. Jazz and Prowl stood frozen, watching as Sunstreaker silently prodded Prowler off the ops deck and down the hallway.<p>

Prowler stumbled, falling against the bulkhead. Sunstreaker pushed his shoulder. "Keep going," Sunstreaker grunted. "Take me to your quarters."

Prowler blanched. He swallowed. "Why?"

"I'm going to treat your laser blast before we head back to Earth. You have a first aid kit?"

"No." Prowler shook his helm, digging in his feet. "No, I'm not going back there."

Sunstreaker's optics blazed. "We're going there. Now," he growled.

"No!" Prowler shoved at Sunstreaker, pushing him away.

Sunstreaker grabbed Prowler's arm, pulling him roughly to him. "Walk!" Sunstreaker bellowed. "Now!"

Shaking, Prowler shook his helm, mute. Sunstreaker pushed him forward, and slowly, step by dragging step, Prowler began to trudge toward his quarters.

When they arrived, Prowler slumped against the bulkhead again, his legs going weak. He buried his face in the wall, trembles shaking his entire frame. Sunstreaker glared and grabbed his hand, using Prowler's palm to open the door. Prowler pulled his hand back after the doors slid open, covering his mouth before his sob tore from his vocalizer.

Sunstreaker stepped into Prowler's quarters, dragging Prowler with him, and stopped in his tracks. Prowler fell to his knees, collapsing, and refused to look at his berth.

His still-trashed berth. His still-covered-in-transfluid berth. His berth where he and Streaker had made love for hours, frame-drenching interfacing and screaming overloads.

Sunstreaker looked down. He turned away, his optics instead falling on Prowler's destroyed desk. "Get your first aid kit," Sunstreaker growled.

"No," Prowler whispered again. He kept staring at the decking, rocking on his knees. "No, no," he moaned.

Growling, Sunstreaker's optics narrowed. He stormed into Prowler's washroom, rummaging at the back shelves. In between Prowler's cleaning cloths, soaps, and waxes, he found a small first aid kit, complete with a mini spot welder. Heaving a deep sigh, Sunstreaker headed back to Prowler.

Prowler was keening on the ground, still rocking back and forth with the laser pistol pressed against his temple. His optics were squeezed shut and quiet sobs fell in between deep moans.

"Prowler!" Sunstreaker barked. He froze, optics blazing, and his spark seized in his frame as he watched his first-emerged dig the pistol into his plating.

Prowler's optics slowly opened. White static stared back at Sunstreaker. He keened through gritted denta. "Just let me do it," Prowler begged. "Let me go."

"Drop that now!" Sunstreaker bellowed. "Do not shoot!"

"Why not?" Prowler wailed. "Look what I did!" He pointed to his soiled berth. "Look at what I did to him!"

"Drop it now!" Sunstreaker bellowed again, louder. He stepped toward Prowler.

Prowler rose to his knees, digging the tip of the laser pistol into his temple. Sunstreaker froze, watching Prowler's hands tremble on the trigger. "I destroyed him!" He shouted at Sunstreaker. "I defiled him! I took his first time!" He heaved, shuddering. "I could tell," Prowler whispered, hissing. "I knew it as soon as I slid into him." Prowler saw Sunstreaker flinch, saw his jaw clench and his gears grind. "I took your mechlet!" Prowler hollered. "I took him and I hurt him! I defiled him with my filth!" Lubricants flew from his lips as he shook, bellowing at Sunstreaker.

"Yes," Sunstreaker hissed. "You did hurt him."

Prowler recoiled as if struck. He moaned, his optics briefly offlining, and Sunstreaker stormed across Prowler's quarters. He tore the laser pistol away from Prowler and ripped it in two, crushing the metal in his hands. Prowler fell backward, gasping on his back before he curled into a ball as Sunstreaker hurled the broken pieces of the laser pistol to the corners.

"Sit up," Sunstreaker commanded. Prowler didn't move. "I said sit up!" Sunstreaker bellowed. When Prowler didn't move, again, Sunstreaker grabbed Prowler by the arm and hauled him up until he was slouching on the deck before Sunstreaker. Kneeling, Sunstreaker grasped Prowler's chin and turned his mechlet's helm. The laser shot stretched over his cheek, ugly and still burning on the edges.

With the gentle care of a parent, Sunstreaker started spot welding Prowler's cheek. It wouldn't heal all the way – there'd be a nasty weld until his self-repairs were able to heal him more than Sunstreaker could. There might be a scar, too, depending on how Prowler took care of himself.

Prowler tried to keep his sobs in, but he couldn't smother everything. Shaking, he kept his optics squeezed shut, his lips pressed together. "Just let me die," Prowler whispered. "Please."

Sunstreaker's exhale wafted across Prowler's face. Prowler whimpered. "You are my mechlet," Sunstreaker growled. "I will never let you go."

"But…" Prowler whimpered as he screwed up his face, his optics squeezing tighter.

"Shhh…" Sunstreaker whispered. The spot welder hummed over Prowler's cheek as Prowler let his sobs flow.

* * *

><p>A static bandage covered the side of Prowler's face as he followed Sunstreaker onto the shuttle. Petulant, Prowler grumbled about Sunstreaker's easy ability to commandeer a shuttle at a moment's notice. <em>G1's. Always able to get what they want, whenever they wanted.<em> Prowler, even as part of SpecOps, had to requisition and justify a request for a shuttle. He couldn't just take off with one.

Sunstreaker, apparently, could. Prowler threw himself into a jump seat behind the flight pod as Sunstreaker started up the shuttle. He leaned forward, burying his helm in his hands. Sunstreaker was taking him to Earth, taking him back to Streaker. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could be worse. He'd be face to face with Streaker, his worst, biggest failure.

And, the mech he'd destroyed. Memories crawled through Prowler, curling at his lines and scraping over his plating. The feel of Streaker's hands on his back, his fingers scratching at his plating. The sound of his breath against his audial, panting and pleading for more. The taste of his lips, or his body. The feel of him, everywhere, and the sounds that he made as he shuddered in Prowler's arms. The sound of his voice as he told Prowler he'd loved him.

Streaker had no idea. He'd never known anything. He'd never known about Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, about the truth of their relationship. He'd never needed to. Prowler had kept the secret buried, and the first time he'd felt the curls of desire tangling through him for Streaker, he knew that he was cursed too.

Prowler dug his hands into the back of his helm, scraping his fingers over his plating. Primus, he had to forget it! He had to forget everything!

He knew he never could.

Prowler eyed Sunstreaker out of the corner of his optic. He just needed a moment alone. Sunstreaker had destroyed his laser pistol, but he'd find another way.

"I'm going to tell you a story," Sunstreaker grunted as the shuttle slid out of the Moonbase hangar. Ahead, Earth hung like a sickle. They'd orbit once to set up an approach vector, then glide down into the _Ark._

Into doom.

"A story?" Prowler grunted. "How is that going to help?"

"This is the story of how you were sparked."

Prowler froze.

"I loved Sideswipe for as long as I can remember. He was the only mech who ever understood me. Who ever met me for what I was." Sunstreaker banked the shuttle, rolling them into Earth's orbit. "We were all we had. Growing up in the orphanage was…" Sunstreaker shook his helm.

Prowler frowned. "You were orphans?"

"Abandoned as sparklings." Sunstreaker chuckled humorlessly. "Maybe our parents were brothers too." He shook his helm. "I never got over it. Sideswipe was everything I had. We got out of the homes and struck out on our own. Tried to make a life for ourselves." Sunstreaker frowned. "Part of that… was figuring out what we felt."

Prowler couldn't breathe.

"It was slow. It was… terrifying. Every new exploration was forbidden but we couldn't stop." Sunstreaker let the memories wash over him. "Our first time was together." He smiled. "It was … perfect."

"And you've been together ever since." Prowler wasn't in the mood for fairy tales.

"No." Sunstreaker threw a dark look over his shoulder. "We fought. We were ashamed of what we'd done. We hid from everyone, even each other. I couldn't tell Sideswipe that all I wanted in the universe was him. He couldn't imagine that I would actually want him. We…" Sunstreaker swallowed. "We spent years ignoring what we felt. I watched Sideswipe frag half the mechs in the Autobots."

"What!" Prowler's optics blanched.

"I couldn't tell him that I wanted him to be with me alone. I couldn't find the struts to say it. And…" Sunstreaker looked down. "And I didn't think he wanted me like that."

"Sideswipe loves you more than I've ever seen a mech love anyone…" Prowler rocked, thrown by Sunstreaker's words.

"I figured the only way I could have him was by fragging him. So I pretended I didn't love him and I fragged him when I could. We interfaced in secret. He dated other mechs while we fragged. I was in agony watching him, but I 'knew' he'd never wanted to really be with me." Sunstreaker closed his optics. "And then one day, there was you."

"Didn't you guys plan for me?"

Sunstreaker turned around, no longer needed to pilot. The shuttle was on its approach, guided in with the auto beacons. "No," he said. "You're here because one day my ground failed and I needed Sideswipe more than I had ever needed him before. We interfaced, and a month later, when we were back to pretending we didn't care about each other, I found out you were growing inside me."

In the almost four decades that Prowler had seen families begin or expand, he'd never once seen an accident. Every sparkling had been desired, wanted, yearned for. Each sparkling was a cause for celebration, a joyous moment that brought the light of creation itself to their parent's optics. "You didn't want me?"

"The war was still going on. We were brothers. No one knew about us. There were a thousand reasons why we shouldn't have had you."

"You didn't want me." Prowler felt his world bottoming out.

"No." Sunstreaker leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But I needed you." He looked down again, speaking to the decking. "I laid down for Ratchet to terminate you," he said, choking on his words. "I was going to destroy your spark because Sideswipe and I couldn't figure out how to say we loved each other." His thumbs played with each other. "Ratchet has always known me better than I knew myself. He refused, and to this day, I still don't know why. But, it was finally too much and I fell apart." Sunstreaker looked up, and his optics were blazing white. "I left with Jazz. Took some time to think." He smiled. "I felt you move for the first time. Felt your body inside me. I knew that I wanted you."

Sunstreaker's optics closed. "When I came back… Sideswipe thought you were terminated. He'd tried to bury his pain in another mech. I caught him with –" Sunstreaker cut himself off. He shook his helm. "I decided that I was going to take care of myself, and you. That I didn't need him anymore." Sunstreaker's optics slitted, staring at Prowler.

Prowler was hyperventilating, his breaths fast and short.

"I ran from him." Sunstreaker swallowed. "And the Decepticons grabbed me. Grabbed **us**. They took us to a cave and tried to rip your spark from mine."

The world was spinning. Prowler didn't think he could hang on, not anymore.

"Sideswipe risked everything to save us. Revealed everything. Declared his love and your parentage for every Autobot to hear. He laid his life down for the two of us. When I woke, he was there, and I have never been more happy and terrified all at once as I was then. Because…" Sunstreaker hesitated. "We had to finally talk. We had to finally figure out what we meant to each other. And what we were going to do about you."

"What happened?" Prowler whispered.

"The hardest two months of my life," Sunstreaker said. "And the hardest decision I'd ever had to make. We finally came clean. Finally told each other how we felt. He confessed that he had been trying to find himself in other mechs, but that he couldn't ever get over me." Sunstreaker shook his helm. "I was never with anyone else. It was always just Sideswipe." Swallowing, he closed his optics again. "I wasn't sure if I could ever trust him. He'd spent half our lives pretending to not love me and fragging everything else, and then, suddenly, he wanted to be in love and be with me forever?" He shook his helm. "I still don't know how I decided to give him another chance."

Sunstreaker looked up. "And, there was everyone else. The _Ark_ despised us. We'd lied to everyone. Sideswipe had fragged half the crew." Sunstreaker saw Prowler flinch. "He was dating a mech while I was sparked. That… ended badly."

"Who?" Prowler whispered.

Sunstreaker shook his helm. "It's ancient history," he said softly. "But the crew had a hard time accepting us. Prowl was our one friend for a long time."

"But…" Prowler frowned. "Everything is different now."

"You would think after all of that pain that we would have figured out how to talk to each other." Sunstreaker shook his helm. "I couldn't get over my pain. Sideswipe couldn't get over his guilt. We had you, fell in love with you, but were too scared of each other to try and move forward. The war was still going on." He rubbed his hands together. "In our final battle with the 'Cons, Sideswipe left you on the _Ark_ and came to save me." He remembered the burning oak tree, the fire licking at his plating, and the Seekers' blasts locking him against the raging inferno. "He…" Sunstreaker's optics offlined as his vocalizer failed. He swallowed, pressing his lips together. "He died."

Prowler's optics blanched. He squeezed his hands together, trying to stop their shaking.

"He died, and Ratchet brought him back. But… he wasn't all the way back." Sunstreaker remembered Sideswipe's half-grey frame, his unnatural stillness. "He was paralyzed and fading away." Inhaling deeply, Sunstreaker distracted himself with the flight controls as he reset his vocalizer. "He asked me to offline him," Sunstreaker grunted. "And let him die for good."

"Stop," Prowler whispered. "Just stop."

"I couldn't kill him," Sunstreaker said, ignoring Prowler. "And I couldn't see him suffer. I sat at his side and watched him in agony, day after day."

Prowler was shaking his helm, hands over his audials, his optics offline.

"You know that scar on your chest?" Sunstreaker finally stopped messing with the flight controls. He peered at Prowler. "Going down your seam?"

Prowler's hand rose, finding the thin line of uneven metal. It was barely there anymore.

"Ratchet asked me if I would risk your life to save Sideswipe's. If I would let him try a transfusion of spark energy from you to Sideswipe." He held Prowler's gaze. "I said yes."

"I could have died?"

"Yes." Sunstreaker looked down. "I could have lost both of you that day. I couldn't live without both of you, though. If Sideswipe had died…" Sunstreaker shook his helm. "Wheeljack would have been your guardian."

"Wheeljack?"

Finally, Sunstreaker almost-smiled. "You guys were best friends when you were a sparkling."

"You…" Prowler shook his helm, trying to understand what he was hearing. He couldn't.

"It worked. Sideswipe recovered, slowly. You were fine. Crawling with your surgical bandage." Sunstreaker smiled at the ages-old memory. He leaned forward, suddenly deathly serious. His optics blazed. "But it took me until Sideswipe died, until I had to choose to risk your life, to see what I had been too fragging stupid to realize for my entire life. That I love Sideswipe with everything that I am and that he loves me back." Sunstreaker paused, swallowing. "And frag the rest of the universe to the Pit, but I will not give that love up."

Prowler breathed hard, holding Sunstreaker's gaze. He shivered, trembling. "But **why** did you have to have sparklings?" Prowler whispered. "Why couldn't you just be broken and be in love, but not have had any mechlets?" He remembered, vividly, Tracks' shout across the Rec room twenty years prior. "I should have been your 'one and only exception.'"

Sunstreaker's optics slitted. "Because we were in love and because we loved raising you. Sideswipe is an excellent parent. We never thought we'd trade rifles and grenades for sparkling blocks and bedtime stories, but it happened. You happened. And we wanted a larger family."

"But don't you see that it's wrong!" Prowler cried. His fists clenched as he wailed. "Don't you see that we're broken? We're **all** broken! You've made broken mechlets!"

"We are not broken," Sunstreaker seethed. "Falling in love is not being broken."

"You're actually telling me to go and be with Streaker? That if I love him it must be okay?" Prowler was incredulous, rearing back, shaking his helm.

"No!" Sunstreaker shook his helm. "I am telling you that you have to **talk** to him. Figure this out. Don't hide behind your shame. Don't be a coward."

"You just told me that 'frag the universe,' you were going to be with Sideswipe!"

"That's my answer!" Sunstreaker snapped. "You have to go figure out your own. I'm trying to help you not hurt as much as Sideswipe and I did."

"Find an answer to a problem that shouldn't exist!" Prowler shouted. "I shouldn't be in love with my brother!" Heaving, Prowler shook his helm. "I don't even think it's love," he hissed. "I think it some kind of sick, disgusting obsession. I can't control it. You guys **clearly** can't. Don't you think I've tried?" He offlined his optics as he thunked his helm against the jump seat. "I would give anything to fall for any other mech. To be with Hope, even. For life to be simple."

Sunstreaker's vents shorted as his memories smeared, blurring together the past and present. Sideswipe's voice overlay Prowler's, both mechs whispering their pleas to love another, their desperate attempts to try and not love their brothers.

Prowler swallowed. "I'm dangerous. I've destroyed my brother and it's all because I can't control this thing inside me." He shuddered. "You can tell me that you and Sideswipe love each other all you want." He opened his optics, glaring at Sunstreaker with a venom Sunstreaker had never seen before. "But I'll never forgive you for sparking me. For making me a monster."

Silence. "Do you think I am a monster?" Sunstreaker finally asked. "And Sideswipe?"

"I think you made fragged-up choices," Prowler snapped.

The shuttle's comm array beeped in the fragile stillness that followed. Sunstreaker slowly turned his back on Prowler, turning back to the flight controls.

Prowler buried his helm in his hands, shaking.

"We're coming in for landing," Sunstreaker grunted. "Touchdown in 20 minutes."

* * *

><p>After Streaker's meltdown with his parents, he'd passed out, finally, from the exhaustion and overwhelming emotions tearing through him. Sideswipe had sat with him while he powered down, stroking Streaker's helm and failing utterly to control his sobs.<p>

Sunstreaker had taken off for the moon after Streaker offlined. Sideswipe, alone in their dark quarters, couldn't stop the screaming his spark. He couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop sobbing, and he knew – he knew without a doubt – that this was all his fault.

Staggering, Sideswipe left their quarters and headed for the medbay. The lights were too bright. He couldn't breathe right. Little mechlets – Primus, some of Streaker's friends were having mechlets – ran by Sideswipe, laughing and giggling. He felt his spark clench. Felt his world burn.

It was like no time at all had passed when Sideswipe stumbled into the medbay. Ratchet and Wheeljack were in Ratchet's office, Wheeljack sitting on the edge of Ratchet's desk, arms crossed, laughing as one leg swung. Ratchet was shaking his helm, throwing Wheeljack a cross, but affectionate, look. Had it really been 40 years and almost a hundred sparklings since the last time Sideswipe had felt like this? He collapsed against a medberth, letting out the sob he'd kept inside on his race to the medbay. "Ratchet!" he shouted.

Ratchet and Wheeljack tore from Ratchet's office, racing to Sideswipe. Hands were everywhere, checking plating for tears and leaks, and Sideswipe felt the tingle of a scan over his frame. "Sideswipe!" Ratchet shouted back. "What's wrong?"

"Spark's racing," Wheeljack said. Sideswipe felt hands guiding him up, moving him onto the berth. "He's panicking. Heading for a crash. I don't see any injuries."

"Sideswipe." Ratchet grabbed Sideswipe's shoulders. He shook the red twin. "What's going on?"

Sideswipe buried his face in Ratchet's chest, leaning against the medic. "Primus," he moaned. "Ratchet, please, help me!"

"I will, Sideswipe, if you let me know what the slag is going on."

"I'm broken," Sideswipe moaned. "I'm broken and I've destroyed my family."

"What?" Ratchet frowned down at Sideswipe as Wheeljack's audial fins blazed. "What are you talking about?"

"Please!" Sideswipe pushed himself up. He grabbed Ratchet, holding him tight as he stared into Ratchet's optics with his wild, frantic gaze. "Please! Scan me again! Find the bad code! **Please**!"

"Bad code?" Ratchet tried to peel Sideswipe's hands from his plating. "What are you talking about, Sideswipe?"

Collapsing in on himself, Sideswipe's helm dropped to his hands. "Prowler and Streaker," he groaned. "They're just like us."

Silence. Ratchet frowned.

Wheeljack got it. He whistled, his audial fins fading slowly. "Sides…" He didn't know what to say.

Ratchet finally got it. "Fragging Primus," he whispered. Exhaling, Ratchet let his helm fall backward.

Sideswipe choked on another sob. "Please," he whispered. "I have always known that it's me that's broken. I'm the one that caused all of this. Please!" He was begging now, desperate for Ratchet's help as he clawed at Ratchet's plating. "Scan my code again! Find where the deviation is! Please!"

"Sideswipe I've scanned you already-"

"That was forty years ago!"

"-and there is no bad code!" Ratchet grasped Sideswipe's shoulders. "There is no bad code, Sideswipe." He tried to shake the red twin. It just came out as a squeeze.

"There has to be," Sideswipe whispered. "Please! If you find it, you can delete it from their base coding! They can be free! They can be normal!"

"I'm sorry," Ratchet said. "I've never found any aberrant code in you, or in your brother. You…" His voice faded. "Appear normal."

"How do I save my mechlets, Ratchet?" Sideswipe was shaking, panting, and he stared at Ratchet with white-hot optics. "How do I save them from this life? From this pain?"

Ratchet's lips thinned as his spark sank. Over Sideswipe's shoulder, Wheeljack swallowed and looked down, silent.

Ratchet pulled Sideswipe to him, wrapping his arms around the red twin's shoulders, and held Sideswipe as he sobbed.

* * *

><p>Ahead of Prowler, Sunstreaker palmed his way into their family quarters. He disappeared inside, leaving Prowler frozen at the doorframe.<p>

Prowler offlined his optics as he squeezed his optics shut. He was trying to banish his spark, trying to destroy it entirely. If he hardened, if he turned himself to ice, turned his spark to ash, he might survive this.

At least, long enough to finally end everything.

But, he could – for the moment - survive Streaker's optics and Streaker's voice if he felt nothing. He could get through this charade.

Sunstreaker turned around, glaring at Prowler through the open door. Inhaling, Prowler trudged inside.

Streaker and Sideswipe were seated at the table, both doodling on data pads. Sideswipe was tucked close to Streaker, watching him as he sketched. He was trying to smile, but his optics were white and he was clutching his data pad with a crushing grip, nearly denting the frame.

Both mechs looked up as Sunstreaker and Prowler walked in.

Prowler looked away, turning toward the couch and their entertainment center on the far side of their quarters. He wasn't fast enough to miss the anguish in Streaker's optics, the yearning bursting from his gaze.

He also wasn't fast enough to beat Sideswipe.

"What happened to your face?" Sideswipe cried. He pushed himself to unsteady feet and Sunstreaker moved quickly to his side. He held Sideswipe close, whispering in his audial, and Prowler heard Sideswipe moan and bury his face in Sunstreaker's neck.

Silence filled the family quarters, save for the sound of Sideswipe trying to stifle his sobs and Sunstreaker's quiet soothing. "He's here," Sunstreaker rumbled. "He's here now."

Prowler fiddled with the couch, pushing on plating worn thin after almost forty years. He kicked the frame.

"Hi." Streaker's voice, thin, from across the room.

Prowler could try all he wanted, tell himself all he dared, that he wasn't going to let Streaker get to his spark, wasn't going to let him touch his soul. But one word, just the sound of his voice, and Prowler was squeezing his optics shut and squeezing his fists, struggling to remember how to breathe.

He kept his back to Streaker, ignoring him.

Sideswipe, finally, pulled back from Sunstreaker. He held himself up with the table's edge. "Is anyone hungry?" he asked. "I can pull together some energon…"

No one spoke.

Sideswipe turned burning optics to Sunstreaker, pleading.

"It's late," Sunstreaker said, grunting. The trip to the moon and back had taken all night and day. "We're leaving the _Ark_ tomorrow. First thing. Everyone get some recharge and we'll be ready to go in the morning."

Sideswipe nodded and reached for Sunstreaker. He laid his hand on his brother's chest, just over his spark. Sunstreaker covered his hand, holding Sideswipe's gaze, and then they broke apart. Sideswipe turned to Streaker, bustling him away from the table and herding him toward mechlet's – but now entirely his – berthroom.

"We're going to recharge in here," Prowler heard Sideswipe tell Streaker. "You and me." The doors slid shut, cutting the two off.

Sunstreaker crossed to Prowler, stopping behind him. Prowler didn't turn around. Sunstreaker sighed.

"You and I will recharge in my and Sideswipe's berth."

"What?" Prowler finally turned, disgust scrawled across his face. "You think that I will crawl into a berth with **you**? With what's happened in our family, how do I know you're not trying to get in my plating?"

The slap across his face was hard and fast. Prowler recoiled, rocking back, covering his un-bandaged cheek as he stared at Sunstreaker.

The yellow twin was fuming, his optics surging, and his hands clenched into fists at his side. Prowler watched him tremble, watched him struggle to control himself. _Do it!_ Prowler screamed in his helm. _Just do it! I deserve it!_

"How dare you," Sunstreaker breathed. "You are my mechlet…" He exhaled hard, struggling for control. "I would **never** hurt you."

"But brother to brother is just fine?" Prowler held Sunstreaker's optics, challenging.

Sunstreaker's jaw clenched, hard. He turned away from Prowler.

Exhaling, Prowler leaned shaking hands against the couch, trying to calm himself.

"What is this? What are you trying to prove?" Sunstreaker finally growled. He gestured to Prowler, sweeping his hand around his mechlet, trying to capture everything that Prowler was. "What is it that you want?"

Prowler glared at the back of Sunstreaker's helm. "You know what I want."

Whirling, Sunstreaker stared at Prowler with crazed optics, streaked with static and nearly black beneath. He stormed to Prowler, grabbing him at the seam of his chest armor. "You are not allowed to kill yourself!" Sunstreaker hissed. "How dare you even think that!"

"It's the only way to protect Streaker! I can't even **look** at him without wanting him! Without wanting to take him again!" Prowler snapped back. "We have to destroy this thing inside us!"

"No!" Sunstreaker bellowed. "We fought too much for you! We struggled! We sacrificed! You mean too much to just destroy yourself!" He was shaking, trembling as he tried to hold his ground before Prowler. "This is your **life**," Sunstreaker seethed through gritted denta. "And we worked so hard to give it to you. You do not get to throw it away!"

"You would have traded me for Sideswipe." Prowler swallowed, hard. "You said it yourself – you risked my life for his."

Sunstreaker's jaw clenched again, hard, his denta grinding together.

"So don't tell me that my sparking was some kind of noble sacrifice," Prowler spat. "You fragged your brother, you had an accident, and you got caught." He shoved Sunstreaker away. "Everything that's happened since then has just been you trying to scramble and make 'getting caught' somehow justifiable."

Sunstreaker's shoulders heaved as he stared at Prowler. Prowler glared right back.

Turning, Sunstreaker stormed into his berthroom. The doors slid shut behind him, but did nothing to drown out the yellow twin's roar, nor the sound of him suddenly vicious, suddenly destroying everything that he and Sideswipe had kept and collected over the years. A framed picture of the family splintered, shattering as Sunstreaker hurled it, hollering and screaming and sobbing before he collapsed to the floor.

Prowler closed his optics against Sunstreaker's sounds. He gritted his denta and slowly crossed their quarters to the table. Streaker and Sideswipe had left their pads, and Prowler couldn't resist just touching the pad that Streaker had held. Smelling it, even, if the scent of his brother was still lingering on the surface. His fingers ghosted over the metal casing.

The screen onlined, woken from suspension.

Prowler stared down at a portrait of himself, hastily sketched by Streaker. He was smiling, lying on his back, looking up with glowing, delighted optics, and his hands were stroking a pair of yellow thighs that framed his torso-

Prowler squeezed his optics shut. His hand shot back as if burned. Streaker had drawn them together, had drawn them during **that**. Shaking, Prowler's legs gave way and he collapsed where he stood. Trying to breathe, the memories crashed through him, an endless loop of Streaker's smiles, his laughs, and the feel of his plating. _"I want you to love me." "I already do."_ The taste of his forbidden kiss.

Pounding the decking, Prowler let the memories go, unable to hold back the flood any longer. His charge crackled through him, his spike clanging to be free. Curling into a ball, Prowler shook his helm as he sobbed, refusing to give in to his body's desire.

Inside Streaker's berthroom, Streaker turned his helm, pressing his face against Sideswipe's neck as the two mechs heard Sunstreaker's roar and the crashing of destruction. He whimpered, squeezing his optics tight, and tried to disappear in Sideswipe's arm.

Sideswipe held Streaker close as the two lay in Streaker's berth. His fingers mechanically stroked up and down Streaker's arm as he whispered, over and over again, "It's okay. We're going to be alright. We're going to be alright."

Streaker didn't know if he could believe him.

* * *

><p>No one wanted to look at each other the next morning.<p>

Prowler onlined on the floor in the middle of the night. He dragged himself to the couch and spent the rest of the night restless and waking from nightmares. He was groggy and irritable when Sunstreaker trudged out of his berthroom, also underpowered. Sunstreaker's optics were nearly iridescent, static and worry-white mixing with an undercharge and the frantic pain in his systems.

Sideswipe tried to force normality. He was almost obsessive about it, trying to prepare energon for everyone in the morning and force a happy cadence to his voice. Prowler ignored the cube Sideswipe prepared for him – warm, touched with the ores he used to love as a mechlet – and Sunstreaker grunted at the proffered cube as he stared at the back of Prowler's helm. Only Streaker sat at the table with Sideswipe, and he held Sideswipe's shaking hand as the red twin tried to keep it together.

Sunstreaker had everyone out the door within the hour. Prowler went to great lengths to keep himself as far from Streaker as possible, ignoring his presence entirely. Streaker tried to catch Prowler's optics, tried to smile, tried to do anything at all to capture Prowler's attention.

Prowler militantly refused to acknowledge his existence. Eventually, Streaker just slumped back, dejected.

Sideswipe stayed by Streaker's side, walking quickly with him to the _Ark_ entrance. They transformed together and sped off, leaving Prowler trudging behind Sunstreaker. If he walked any slower, Prowler would be going backwards.

Sunstreaker huffed again, glaring at Prowler. "Hurry up," he growled.

"I don't want to do this," Prowler snapped. "You can't make me. I'm a grown mech."

"You are my mechlet!" Sunstreaker snapped back. "And you're acting like a sparkling. As long as you continue to act like a sparkling, I will treat you as one." He shoved Prowler forward, pushing him ahead. "Get outside and transform."

"Where are we even going?" Prowler was sullen as he dropped into his alt mode.

"Head west." Sunstreaker dropped down beside Prowler. "We're driving together." Sunstreaker wasn't letting Prowler out of his sights.

After a long drive, Prowler figured out where they were headed. He pulled into the beachhead behind Sideswipe, parking far from Streaker. Streaker watched the waves with one optic and his brother with the other. His spark, his ever-hopeful spark, stung.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker tried to put up brave fronts. They walked their family to the beach, the same beach they'd taken Prowler and Streaker to when Streaker was just a sparkling. Sunstreaker held Sideswipe's hand as they walked in the surf until it was too spark-breaking to bear. He hurled Sideswipe into the waves, then, trying to cajole some fun. Sideswipe sputtered, lunging for Sunstreaker, and the two were wrestling in the waves in no time.

Streaker watched, laughing and clapping and cheering each parent on. He kept score, then started keeping score for each wave that knocked them out. For the moment, he could pretend that everything was normal.

Prowler hung back, silent and sullen on the sand, staring at his family. He was a shade, a shadow in the background, a dark pall that stained their effortless warmth. Together, the three of them were able to have fun wherever they went while he hung in the background like a degenerate. Like a criminal. Like the disgusting creature that he was.

Turning away from his family, Prowler stared into the horizon, trying to calculate the wave speed and depth and how fast his frame could sink in the buoyant salt water.

Later, after the twins had come out of the waves and dried off in the sun, and after Streaker had taken a long, quiet walk, and after Prowler had ignored all of Sideswipe's attempts to get him to open up, or to relax, or to just slagging look at him, for Primus' sake, the family sat down around a bonfire and drank their energon cubes. The sun had set and the stars were out, and the moon rose over the ocean.

Prowler stared at the moon, desperate to be anywhere but on the beach. He didn't want to be back on the moon, either, though, the site of his massive failure.

"I remember," Sunstreaker began, breaking the silence that enveloped the family whenever they were all together. "Coming here with Prowler and Streaker."

"Twenty years ago." Sideswipe smiled at Streaker. "You were just a sparkling. Not even a year."

"We played in the waves."

"You threw me in the water." Sideswipe smiled at his brother.

"Prowler took care of Streaker." Sunstreaker said, breaking the untouchable, invisible barrier Prowler had erected around himself. "Prowler held him all day long."

Across the fire, Streaker smiled. He didn't remember the experience, but just the thought of Prowler caring for him warmed his spark.

Prowler glared down at the sand. Hunched over, curled around himself, Prowler glowered silently and ignored everyone.

"I remember," Sideswipe started. He swallowed, trying to erase the bad taste of Prowler's disgust. "The first time we took Prowler to a beach when he was mechlet."

Sunstreaker chuckled. "He'd run from the waves, screaming, then chase them back out again."

"Remember the first time he got knocked down?"

"I'll never forget that look of shock on his face." Sunstreaker watched Prowler, trying to catch any reaction.

There was none.

"I remember," Streaker tried. "Halloween when I was a tiger." The _Ark_ had tried to incorporate holidays into the year, especially for the mechlets. Tracking the progress of time, marking years and anniversaries, and celebrating the Cybertronian and Terran holidays became a fun past time for the families. Streaker had been a tiger when he was five years old. He'd worn a tail and pointed ears, and Sunstreaker had painted him in stripes with whiskers on his face.

"You were an octopus your first year." Sideswipe smiled, remembering the soft hat and eight-legged skirt they'd put him in. He'd recharged through the whole evening and the small party in the Rec room, but everyone had chuckled at his costume.

_I remember charging up for Streaker for the first time,_ Prowler thought, trying to control his raging spark. _I was thirty and he was thirteen. We were in his berth 'cause I was staying over from the Moonbase. He was sleeping in my arms and all I wanted to do was roll him over and kiss him from head to feet._ Prowler snarled at himself and curled tighter, glowering at the sand. He didn't think his memory would go over well with the family. He was disgusting.

He'd never slept in the same berth with Streaker again after that night. Until the Moonbase and his gigantic failure.

The game continued, three mechs sharing memories as Prowler stayed silent. Absent from the shared memories were "I remember the first time I met you," or "I remember how you looked on our first date." Prowler slipped into an ever-more foul mood as the game played on. He didn't want to be happy, didn't want to remember the good times. He didn't want to think about Streaker as a sparkling, or himself as a mechlet, or remember the proud days and the loving times. He didn't want to listen to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's life together, hear about the family they'd created, the comfortable, loving home they'd all had.

He wanted to burn. He wanted to rage and seethe and drown in his ugliness, fling himself into the ocean and let the waves carry him away.

Finally, he'd had enough. Prowler pushed himself to his feet in the middle of one of Sideswipe's happy recollections. He ignored everyone's questioning looks and turned away, trudging down the sand toward the waves. He walked until he couldn't hear the rumble of their voices or the sound of their laughter.

Prowler stared at the waves. What would drowning feel like?

"Prowler?"

Prowler jerked, shuddering as Streaker's voice crashed over him like a wave. He kept his back to Streaker. "What do you want?" he growled.

Streaker sighed. "You actually acknowledged me this time." He smiled at Prowler's back. "That's a start."

Swallowing, Prowler said nothing.

"Prowler, please." Streaker stared at his brother's back. "Please, just talk to me. We can figure this out. We're on the same page, aren't we? Don't we feel the same?"

Grinding his denta, Prowler shook his helm, his fists clenching. "No!" he snapped. "We're not on the same page at all." He turned away from the waves, trying to stalk back up the beach. The sand slowed him down, shifting beneath him.

"You told me you loved me!" Streaker called. "And you said you wanted me to love you back. I do, Prowler!"

Prowler whirled around, staring at Streaker. He was higher, standing on the sand drift as Streaker's ankles were hit with the foamy ends of moonlit waves. Prowler's optics gleamed, madness and hatred bursting from within. "And you **believe** me?" Prowler snapped. "You believe that I love you?"

"Yes." Streaker squared himself, holding his ground. "I know what happened. And I know that I love you, no matter what."

"I don't believe that you love me!" Prowler snarled. "I **don't**! I believe that you're programmed by this sick **thing** to think you are in love with me." He bared his denta as he heaved, almost feral in his self-directed rage. "I'm a monster, Streaker," he growled. "I'm infected with this sickness. It makes me **crave** you." Prowler's optics slid down Streaker's body, caressing his lines with wanton need. "And you've been infected, too. Probably from me." Prowler shook his helm and turned away.

"You're not a monster!" Streaker lunged for Prowler, trying to grab his arm, trying to stop him.

"I **am**!" Prowler bellowed, whirling around. His mad optics pierced Streaker, freezing him. "I'm **obsessed** with you," he breathed. "I can't think about** anything** but you. I can't think of **any** other mech. I can't feel anything for anyone but **you**." Prowler stalked closer, breathing hard. "The sound of your voice is music to my audials. The warmth of your plating warms my spark. The scent of your frame-" Prowler inhaled, close enough to catch Streaker's scent on the wind. "You drive me wild." His hands floated over Streaker's plating. He could feel his systems revving, and, paradoxically, calming. He didn't touch. He couldn't. "The last time we were here, I held you as a sparkling." Prowler whispered. "I fed you energon bottles and let you sleep on my armor." He could still remember the feel of Streaker's tiny body humming in recharge, curled over his spark chamber.

Prowler's hands clenched into fists. "I shouldn't want to frag a mech that I cared for as a sparkling!" He started to back away. "I shouldn't need you like I need to breathe! I shouldn't feel this way for you!"

Streaker was in agony. His face crumpled, his optics melting. "Prowler…" He reached for his brother. "Why can't you just be happy? Why can't you be okay with this? We can make something work, I know we can! I **do** love you!"

Prowler shook his helm. "I'll never be okay with defiling you." He continued to back away. "And I'll never be happy without you."

"Prowler!" Streaker's optics blazed, streaking with static. "I'm right here! I want you too!"

"You shouldn't!" Prowler kicked sand at Streaker, trying to keep him back. "I'm dangerous! I'm disgusting!"

"You aren't!" He ignored the sand, trying to catch his brother.

"You should **hate me**!" Prowler shouted. "Why don't you hate me!"

"Because I love you!" Streaker screamed. He finally lost it, screaming and shaking and clenching his fists. He looked like a sparkling, but he didn't care. "I love you and I just want to be with you!" Sobbing, Streaker shook his helm, pleading optics holding Prowler's. "Why can't that be enough?"

Prowler shook his helm. "Because I won't give in to this," he growled. "I won't let my filth destroy you or your life." All of Streaker's long years lay ahead of him, full of potential, full of opportunity. Prowler swooping in, taking him from everything he could do, everyone he could love, was the worst kind of crime. Snatching Streaker, ripe fruit, just before being released from the tree. Waiting, like a predator, to snatch him from the world, bury him in Prowler's need.

"You make me strong," Streaker pleaded. "I always wanted to be more for you. To make you proud of me."

"You should do that for yourself," Prowler growled. "Not for me. I will just drag you down." Into his abyss.

"Stop saying that!" Streaker shouted. "Why do you have to be like this?"

"Because you won't back off!" Prowler bellowed back. "I'm trying to save you!"

"You're hurting me!"

Snarling, Prowler turned away, storming down the beach. Rage coursed through his lines. Need pushed him to turn back. Anguish broke his spark. Sobs tore through his vents, heaving and quaking.

"Prowler!" Streaker's mournful wail followed Prowler on the wind. He refused to turn around, refused to look back.

The waves crashed to his right. His fingers twitched, feeling the spray. But he kept walking in a straight line until he collapsed, miles away, and let his sobs overtake him and the agony of wanting burn through his frame. He let the waves roll over him, and, when the sun rose, Prowler trudged back to his family's bonfire and their recharging frames.

* * *

><p>Sunstreaker's next stop on their family vacation from the Pit was Moab, Utah. He'd always wanted to go. The red sandstone made him think of Sideswipe and the arches and canyons scrawled over the desert were primal in their ferocity, stark and empty and wild in a way that so few things were. The world here was bare, exposed, and it forced a reflection of the soul in the way only desolation could.<p>

It wasn't, perhaps, the best time to take everyone there. But, Sunstreaker was reaching for ideas, desperate to jar them all back into place somehow. Sideswipe was going to tremble away, disappear on the wind with another spark break. Streaker had lost the smile in his optics and Sunstreaker feared that was for good. Prowler was an anguished, raging shell, pushing everyone away – especially Sunstreaker.

And Sunstreaker was barely hanging on.

The drive was long, almost 20 hours through deserts and forests and mountains before descending into the desolate red valleys. Too exhausted from the long drive, they family recharged in alt mode as soon as they arrived.

When they woke, Sunstreaker led his family on a strut-creaking exploration of the wastes. They climbed canyons, strode through untouched arches, disappeared for hours in empty back-country lowlands. They climbed mesas that rose to the sky, flat tops seeming to hold up the atmosphere. Streaker gaped, feeling the power of the place in his lines, and his fingers ached for a sketchpad. He stood with Sunstreaker, the two artists talking softly over the stark lines and windswept curves.

Sideswipe sat on the canyon wall nearby, listening to them talk and letting the wind swirl in his plating. He was quiet, almost unnaturally so, and gave Sunstreaker smiles tinged with sadness whenever Sunstreaker would turn a questioning gaze to his twin.

Prowler felt the wind hollow through him. The empty spaces of his spark echoed with the desolation, and he felt like a million bits of dust blown to pieces, scattered across the miles. He was destroyed, a shell, as dead as the land, and he felt the silent scream rise from within him.

Sunstreaker sat with Sideswipe, holding his hand, and the twins stared in silence.

Streaker closed his optics and let the wind blow over his plating. He held out his arms, almost like they were wings.

Prowler saw his chance. He turned and crept away, dropping into his alt mode when he was far enough to not be heard, and gunned hard for the mesa's edge. The drop was over 2000 feet, surely enough to offline him. Enough to crush his spark, obliterate his soul. He redlined his engine, speeding for the edge.

"Prowler!" Streaker's voice crackled over his comm. In Prowler's rearview, he saw the arching plume of dust from a speeding car giving chase. He was too far to stop Prowler. He wouldn't reach him in time.

"Prowler, please, don't do this!" Streaker shouted, pleading. The rev of his engine echoed over the comm. "Please!"

Prowler ignored him.

"Think about what you're doing!" Streaker threw everything he had into his engine, overclocking and over-red-lining his power. He felt something crack. He didn't care. "What you're doing to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker! They'll be destroyed if you do this!"

The edge of the mesa crept closer.

"What do you need?" Streaker pleaded. Sobs rattled his voice. "Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you! If you need me to never speak to you again, I won't! Just please! Don't do this!"

Prowler inhaled. Exhaled. Not much longer. "Streaker," he whispered. "Goodbye."

"No!" Streaker wailed. "You're such a stupid selfish fragger! I **hate** you! I don't love you! I can't love you if you're going to do this!" He sobbed, screaming wordless sounds. "**Stop**!"

"This is for you," Prowler whispered. He could see the edge, flying toward him.

"I'll follow you!" Streaker shrieked. "I will **follow** you over that edge if you go! Don't you dare think I won't!" He pushed himself even harder.

Prowler hesitated. He heard steel in Streaker's voice, determination. He heard Streaker's heavy vents, the calming of his systems. He heard Streaker settle into the same decision Prowler had made. "No," he whispered. "This is to save you."

"I hope when I land I land on your face!" Streaker spat. "I hope I crush you! I hate you!"

Prowler transformed at full speed, sliding and skidding on the rocky ground on his chest. He flailed, arms and legs scrabbling in the rock, trying to grab anything. He couldn't grasp anything, couldn't stop, and he skidded across the mesa, rocketing toward the edge. The rocks gouged deep tears in his plating, severing lines, and energon smeared over his frame, spurting on to the ground.

Behind him, Streaker swerved, then lost control. He rolled, tumbling in alt mode over and over again. Glass shattered, plating scraped, but he came to a stop on his roof a safe distance from the edge. Transforming – and shrieking in pain – Streaker clawed his way to his feet and tore after Prowler.

He slipped in Prowler's spilled energon.

He dove, sliding on the rock, and felt his plating give. He couldn't breathe, struggling for air, but his hand found Prowler's as Prowler skidded too-close to the mesa's edge. Pulling, throwing his entire weight into the act, Streaker heaved, trying to throw his brother to the side, keep him away from the plunging mesa edge.

Prowler gripped back, hard. His optics met Streaker's. Naked fear eclipsed everything, burning through Streaker, and he held onto his brother as they both slid and skidded and tumbled, not knowing where they'd end up.

Streaker squeezed his optics shut, gripped down on Prowler's hand. He inhaled, feeling air soar over his plating.

When they came to a stop, bumping against a boulder with a hard jolt, but safe on top of the mesa, Streaker almost couldn't believe it. He heaved himself up, his vents short and painful, and crawled to Prowler's side.

Prowler was barely breathing. Energon was everywhere. Gouges went down to his frame. His spark chamber was exposed, sparking with torn wires.

"You fragger!" Streaker shouted, then coughed. He fell to his hands, glaring down at his brother.

Prowler's optics flickered open, faded, but online. He stared at Streaker, his optics tracing his brother's face. "So perfect," Prowler whispered. They faded offline.

"Sunny!" Streaker shouted into his comm link, hoping it was still working. "Sideswipe!" He sat back heavily and pulled Prowler into his lap, cradling his brother's helm against his chest. His sobs flowed freely as he rested his forehelm against his brother's.

In the distance, twin plumes of sand arched behind Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, racing for their mechlets.

* * *

><p>Ratchet kept Prowler in a private surgical suite. Drip lines descended into him, sedatives and pain killers and replacement energon. His frame had to be welded, his armor repaired. Lines had to be replaced, and torn wires. He was offline for days.<p>

Streaker's engine had cracked, and his rolling crash had done a number to his frame. He needed to be unbent in places, and armor had be repaired. He was offline for a day while Ratchet and Wheeljack put him back together.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe camped in the medbay, utterly beside themselves.

Sideswipe hadn't stopped sobbing, not since he'd seen his mechlets and their crash site, seen Prowler's aborted suicide attempt and Streaker holding his helm as he sobbed. He'd collapsed to their side, trying to stem leaking energon and hold Prowler together while Sunstreaker called for a medevac. As soon as the shuttle had landed, and his mechlets were onboard with Ratchet, Sideswipe had screamed and screamed and hadn't stopped. He screamed into Sunstreaker's chest as Ratchet spiked Prowler's spark and buried his face in his hands as Streaker offlined.

Sunstreaker held his brother close, his optics rolling from vacant to midnight, bursting with rage and seething, hot and angry. He stood over Prowler's still body, not touching. "You took the coward's way," Sunstreaker growled at his offline mechlet.

Ratchet had looked away.

When Streaker onlined, he saw his parents on either side of him, and he gripped their hands tight while Sideswipe stroked his helm, peppered his face with kisses.

"Prowler?" Streaker croaked.

"Still offline," Sunstreaker grunted.

When Prowler was finally ready to online, Streaker demanded to speak to him first.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were hesitant. "We're not sure that's a good idea," Sunstreaker said slowly. "You…" Sunstreaker swallowed. "He's having a hard time being around you."

"I know." Streaker refused to back down. "Which is why I have to talk to him."

Sideswipe wilted and sank down the medbay walls, sitting on his aft outside Prowler's surgical suite. Sunstreaker went with him, lacing his hand through Sideswipe's, and Sideswipe offlined his optics and leaned his helm against Sunstreaker's shoulder.

Ratchet watched, silent, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Streaker waited by Prowler's berthside as Ratchet brought the first-emerged online. Groggy, Prowler's optics flickered and faded, then finally powered on slowly.

He saw Streaker instantly. He froze.

"I need to tell you something," Streaker said. His voice didn't waver. He didn't falter. His optics were closed off, distant, and his jaw was set. "And you need to listen."

Ratchet slid out of the suite.

"I'm not happy with how this played out," Streaker said. He'd rehearsed these lines for days, watching Prowler's offline form. "You could have talked to me. You could have been rational. We could have drawn up boundaries and come to understand each other." He swallowed. "You could have done a thousand things different than what you chose to do."

Prowler barely breathed, watching Streaker.

"And it's not how I expect to be treated. By anyone." Streaker shook his helm. "Least of all the person who claimed to love me." Streaker exhaled slowly. "So I am telling you this. I'm done. I'm not going to pursue you. I'm don't want to be with someone who so casually can throw me away, who refuses to interact like a normal mech, and who can't acknowledge even the simplest of feelings." Streaker held Prowler's optics. He saw Prowler's confusion, saw his anguish, saw his fear. "I'm **not** going to be with you," Streaker said. "I choose not to."

Prowler's mouth finally fell open. He frowned at Streaker. "You… can choose?" His voice was shaking.

"I **do** choose," Streaker said. "And I choose to walk away from you."

And with that, he turned and left Prowler's side, walking out of the surgical suite.

Prowler watched him go, relief warring with anguish, warring with hopelessness, warring with the aching emptiness consuming his spark. But, it was over. Streaker was going to be safe.

Away from him.

* * *

><p>Prowler was sent back to the Moonbase with a minimum of fanfare. He rode a transport shuttle and only Sideswipe and Sunstreaker bid him farewell. Sideswipe held him in a too-long hug, trembling the whole time. Sunstreaker stayed back, his arms crossed, and he glared at the decking as Prowler mumbled a goodbye. They didn't make optic contact.<p>

Sunstreaker hadn't spoken to Prowler since his attempted suicide. Since his vitriol. Since his hatred and his anger made him lash out and hurt everyone around him.

Sideswipe had barely managed to speak to Prowler before he devolved into first sobbing and then silence.

Prowler left for the Moonbase the same day Ratchet released him from the medbay.

When he landed, he felt like an outsider, an alien in his own home. He'd been gone only a week, but it seemed like a lifetime of change had happened. He headed for his quarters on autopilot, sending a quick comm to Prowl that he was back and that'd he'd be on duty in the morning.

He froze as his doors slid open.

His berth, still trashed, still covered in transfluid, stared at him.

Swallowing, Prowler mechanically walked to his washroom. He pulled down the cleansers, pulled down a rag. He forced himself not to think, not to remember.

He scrubbed at his berth, obliterating his night with Streaker and erasing it from history. His hands shook and his optics bleached white, and finally, he collapsed to his pillow, shaking and sobbing as he inhaled Streaker's faded scent.

He didn't wash his pillow.

* * *

><p>"Well, well, well, look who's back from the land of the lost." Hope pulled out a chair next to Prowler in the lounge and flopped into it. "What's up? Why'd you leave?" His optics peered at the faint scar on Prowler's cheek.<p>

Prowler shrugged. He picked at his plate of energon chips. A column of regular energon was on the table. He still got queasy thinking of high grade.

"Hello? Moonbase 1 to Prowler, come in?" Hope waved a hand in front of Prowler's optics.

Prowler shoved his hand away. "Family stuff," he grumbled.

Hope frowned. Prowler was a moody glitch of a rusted circuit, but this was a bit much, even for him. "'Family stuff'?" he echoed. "Well, I hope it doesn't have to do with Streaker-"

Prowler's optics blazed, shooting to Hope.

"-'cause he's been approved for the triple-changer program and I need to get started on his transformation."

Prowler froze. His optics squeezed shut.

Hope stared at his friend. "Prowler? What the slag? You're even more glitched than before."

"'Am not."

Hope rolled his optics. "Fine, whatever." He heaved himself to his feet. "I've got a patient. I just wanted to check in with you. But, look, Streaker needs to get back here, stat. Silverbolt's starting training soon and I need time to do the surgery and make sure everything settles before he begins."

Swallowing, Prowler nodded. "I'll… let him know." He shoved his plate of energon chips away.

Hope did a quick scan. "And eat that whole plate," he said, pushing it back toward Prowler. "You're crazy low on power."

Prowler glared at Hope as Hope strolled out of the lounge. Why couldn't he just have fallen for Hope? It would have been easy, so easy, to make a life with his friend. Especially since they shared the same world, lived in the same base.

But no. It wasn't to be.

And now, Streaker would be coming to the moon. Being on separate worlds was barely enough before. Being together was impossible. Now, they'd be on the same base? Prowler lowered his helm, offlining his optics. His struggle was about to really begin.

* * *

><p>Hot Spot waved as Hope came through the medbay doors. He was sitting up, tapping a pad in his hands, and a lopsided grin stretched over his face.<p>

"You look almost happy to be here," Hope teased. He crossed to Hot Spot's medberth, checking the readouts on the display above Hot Spot quickly. He was healing just fine. He'd need one more calibration and then he'd be on his way. They were watching his peripheral systems now, wanting a full cycle of energon flow readings before clearing his repairs.

Hot Spot chuckled. "This hasn't been the worst time I've been incarcerated in the medbay."

"Incarcerated." Hope rolled his optics. "You are impossible."

"I had Streetwise grab me one of my data pads." He held it out to Hope. "I pulled up some of those photos I told you about."

Excited, Hope grabbed the data pad, almost pulling it from Hot Spot's hands. Hot Spot laughed again, low and rich, and the sound washed over Hope's doorwings. They fluttered, slightly, before Hope got a grip on himself.

He onlined the data pad and poured through the pictures. Hot Spot had taken dozens of shots when he was off world, dozens and dozens of pictures of stars and systems and planets that no one had ever seen. Hope drank the sights, his mouth falling open.

"This is the Ceti system…" Hot Spot pointed over Hope's shoulder.

"Where you landed on the comet?"

Hot Spot nodded. He tried to zoom in, but reaching around Hope was awkward. He backed away.

Hope turned and perched on Hot Spot's medberth, sitting right next to him. He leaned into the Protectobot's plating, holding the pad for them both to see. "Tell me everything," he said.

Inhaling, Hot Spot tried to grin. He bit his lip, then focused on the data pad. "I landed my shuttle here…"

Hot Spot's low voice rumbled on as Hope sat by his side, listening to his stories and pouring through his photos. If Hope didn't need to sit that close, or if Hot Spot could have scooted over to give him more room, neither mech said a word.

* * *

><p>Prowler composed a message to Streaker, going through several drafts.<p>

_Dear Streaker-_

No, too familiar. Too much like old times.

_To: Autobot Streaker_

Well, he wasn't an Autobot, not yet. Prowler had to do some fast paperwork on that, too.

Simply, then,

_Streaker – _

_Hope has informed me that you have been accepted into the triple changer space flight program. He requires your presence ASAP for the required surgical transformation. If you accept this position, you'll be joining the Autobots and agreeing to be stationed at the Moonbase for the indefinite future._

_Reply to myself and Autobot Hope with your decision. _

He struggled with how to sign off, and finally, just gave up. Streaker would know who it came from.

Prowler checked the clock. It was 2am. Middle of the night, and he was still online. He couldn't recharge. Nightmares, dreams of red rocks and endless beaches and Streaker's screams and his promises to follow Prowler woke him every hour. He was chronically undercharged, growing listless, and Prowler didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

He pressed send. Streaker would see it in the morning.

Prowler moved on, catching up on reports he'd missed during his week on Earth. Deep space survey was on hold while Hot Spot healed, and, according to Jazz, suspended indefinitely pending a review of what happened. Intra-solar system operations were humming along, going well. Deep space intel was quiet.

The comm pinged. Frowning, he turned back. A message from Streaker, already responding, and this late at night.

Swallowing, Prowler clicked the message.

_I accept this posting. _

Nothing else. Prowler cursed himself for hoping. Didn't he chase Streaker away? Didn't he chase everyone away? Didn't he want this?

He rested his helm on his desk, offlining his optics.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Hope wandered into the medbay with two cubes of energon and stopped dead in his tracks.<p>

Hot Spot's berth was empty.

Frowning, Hope changed direction, heading for his office. He froze as First Aid appeared, sliding from the doorframe and standing in front of Hope.

They hadn't spoken, hadn't even seen each other since First Aid had bolted from the medbay. First Aid had come in during the night shift, working on Hot Spot while he recharged, and Hope had had the medbay to himself during the day.

"Huh," Hope said. "You came back. Thought you were just going to give me the medbay."

First Aid smiled. Hope could see the crinkles at the corners of his optics. He shook his helm. "Not quite yet," he said.

"Where's Hot Spot?" Hope tried to hide his disappointment. He couldn't hide the second cube he'd grabbed for the Protectobot.

"I sent him home in the middle of the night." First Aid swallowed. "Everything had settled, your repairs were perfect, and he was ready to get out of here."

That stung more than Hope wanted to admit. He'd thought that they were getting along well. Enough, at least, to say goodbye. Or even, see you soon, if he was lucky. Outside the medbay, preferably.

"And," First Aid continued. He stepped closer to Hope. "I wanted to talk to you alone."

Hope canted his helm, frowning at First Aid. "Why?"

Finally, First Aid's nerves caught up with him. He fidgeted, inhaling deep, and he gestured to Hope's office. "Can we please go sit down?"

Nodding, Hope passed by First Aid on the way. He held out one cube with a smile. A peace offering, of sorts.

First Aid visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging, and he smiled back at Hope behind his blast mask. He padded toward his office and sank into one of Hope's chairs. Hope perched on his desk, sipping his energon and staring down at the obviously-undercharged, fumbling First Aid.

"What is going on?" Hope quietly asked.

"Look," First Aid said quietly. He pushed the energon cube from palm to palm on Hope's desk. "You started as my student and I was your mentor, but my memories of you go back way further than that. I was in the medbay when Wheeljack told Jazz you were … on board. Inside Jazz." He swallowed and looked down. "There's a lot of things about the war, and about the end of the war, that we all struggle with." He offlined his optics. "For me, one of the worst memories I have is your emergence day," he whispered.

Hope frowned. He reached for First Aid's arm.

"I can still see it," First Aid whispered. "I can still **smell** it. Hear … **everything**." First Aid buried his helm in his arms, resting his plating on Hope's hand. "I thought we were going to lose Jazz," he said into his arms. "And you."

"What happened?"

First Aid shook his helm. He sat up, leaning back in his chair until he was slouching. His optics were offline and he retracted his blast mask. "You were premature," he said. "You were a month early. Jazz's tank burst and we had to force your spark to separate from Jazz's." He pressed his lips together, remembering the smell of burning energon.

Hope stared, his mouth open.

"I had to shock Jazz's spark – and your spark – with an energon prod as Ratchet disassembled Jazz to tear open his tank, which had burst on the bottom, and pull you out. Energon was… everywhere. Wheeljack and I kept slipping in it. In **Jazz's** energon. Jazz was seizing, and Ratchet kept telling me to shock him, over and over…" First Aid's voice faded away. His optics turned distant, gazing at memories and ancient history. "When Ratchet pulled you out, you were the size of Wheeljack's palm." His voice was small, and he spoke to the bulkhead. "You had a hole in your engine and your optics weren't mature yet. We had to snake an O2 line into you." He shook his helm. "Ratchet gave you three days to live, at the most."

Hope dropped down to First Aid's side, kneeling by his friend. "First Aid, I'm right here," Hope said softly.

"I was in charge of figuring out how to rebuild Jazz's internals. Ratchet and Wheeljack … performed a miracle. I don't think anyone expected you to live." First Aid turned to Hope, his optics meeting Hope's at level. "But you did." First Aid smiled, small and soft. "It took you five years, but you fought back. You fought back to normal development. We watched you every year, but you were perfect." First Aid reached for Hope, cupping his face. "You are a gift," he whispered.

Hope leaned into First Aid's touch. "Why did you guys hide this from me?"

Inhaling, First Aid gathered himself. He sat up straight, pulling back from Hope. "There's more to this story," he said. "And I can't share those parts. Only Jazz and Prowl know what happened between them."

Hope canted his helm, frowning.

"But, you're more than my student now." First Aid smiled. "You're my friend. One of my closest friends." His optics burned, blazing into Hope's. "I couldn't keep this from you. And… I needed to get this out. I've never told anyone. We never talked about it. Just… buried the nightmare."

Hope was silent. He reached for First Aid's shoulder. All the long years, the decades they'd spent working together, running their medbay as partners, and First Aid had kept this inside. Hope squeezed, rubbing at First Aid's plating. "Thank you," Hope said. He smiled. "Thank you for telling me, and thank you for saving my life."

First Aid tried to smile, but his face twisted, and then he was leaning forward, wrapping Hope up in his arms as he shuddered and trembled and buried his silent sobs in Hope's hip. Hope held him close, stroking down First Aid's helm. He held him until his trembles settled, until he stopped feeling the rush of hot air and shaking sobs against his plating. Until First Aid pulled back.

"Sorry," First Aid chuckled once. "You don't need me falling apart on you." He looked anywhere but at Hope, trying to clamber to his feet without having to meet Hope's gaze.

Hope grabbed him, stilling him. He turned First Aid back. Squeezed his arms. Rubbed his plating. "You are incredible," he said. "I learned everything I know from you. There's no other mech I would ever want as my mentor, or as my partner." He finally met First Aid's shy optics. "You saw a world I don't know," he said softly. "I can't know what that was like. But I will always listen."

Slowly, First Aid reached up, covering Hope's hand with his own. He smiled, keeping his lips pressed together, and then silently slipped away. He disappeared into his own office, leaving the medbay quiet and empty.

He left the energon cube on Hope's desk.

Hope sat back on the edge of his desk, exhaling. Thoughts tumbled through his processor, spinning and swirling and bumping into one another. He reached for the full cube, twirling it on his desk as his thoughts rolled forward.

* * *

><p>Prowler didn't meet Streaker or his transport.<p>

He didn't congratulate him on his entry into the space flight program. He didn't assign him quarters, far on the other side of the base. He didn't join the Autobot enlistment ceremony. He didn't offer to celebrate in the lounge with him later, or slap him on the back, or high five him.

He left that all to Silverbolt, Streaker's new commanding officer. And Silverbolt's wing, his brothers, the training officers for the space flight program.

Prowler, instead, stayed locked in his office, morose and dejected as he watched Silverbolt file Streaker's enlistment paperwork and his command assignment. His engine jumped, rumbling when he saw Sky Dive listed as Streaker's flight trainer.

He couldn't ignore Streaker's transformational surgery. He'd badgered Hope with endless questions, interrogating Hope about the safety of the surgery, about how sure he actually was about Streaker's suitability. Hope had indulged him for only a minute before he'd fought back, snapping at Prowler and his suggestions that Streaker wouldn't be safe with Hope or the program.

When the time of the surgery came, Prowler was ensconced in Hope's dark office, watching the medbay with slitted optics.

He watched Streaker get his briefing from Hope. Watched him assent to the procedure. Watched him approve the new mode he'd wake with.

Watched Streaker watch the medbay doors, waiting for someone to walk through.

He watched as Streaker finally nodded to Hope and laid back, allowed the sedative drip to slide into his arm. He watched his optics fade offline, fluttering closed.

Prowler stayed for the entire surgery, watching Hope's every move. Hours upon hours of procedure, watching Streaker get stripped down to his bare frame. Down to his protoform. Watching his frame be rewelded, readjusted, new parts and pieces molded together.

Partway through, Hope threw Prowler onto a medberth and spiked him with an energon line. Prowler hadn't even had the strength to fight, and he sat, slumping, as energon poured into him. At least he wouldn't purge the spiked energon, as he had everything he'd tried to ingest. Hope glared at Prowler, mumbling about overprotective glitching older brothers.

When Streaker onlined, a full day later, Prowler wasn't there.

He'd been there minutes before, running his fingers over Streaker's new frame, over the new winglets at his shoulders and his ankles. Hope had stared at him until his plating burned, shame and disgust crawling through him.

Prowler fled, but the touch of his fingers lingered on Streaker's plating.

Streaker stared at the medbay doors as he came online. He was still hoping he'd see a frame walk through those doors. Sighing, he rolled back, offlining his optics, and he missed Hope's wide-optic'd jerk, the shock of realization that jolted through Hope's frame.

"How am I, Doctor?" Streaker asked. He rolled his shoulders, searched for his new mode in his processor.

Hope stuttered, gripping the edge of Streaker's medberth. "You're fine," he finally said. He glared at the medbay doors, where Prowler had disappeared. "You're just fine."


End file.
